


Come Rain or Come Shine

by knittycat99, nubianamy



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, Genealogy, Genocide, M/M, Multi, Multimedia, Photography, Polyamory Negotiations, Postcards, World Travel, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the journey is the destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2012

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came pouring out of us in Knitty's kitchen, both of us talking a mile a minute as we plotted and schemed. When we walked away from the outline, it was already 4k. Now that we've actually come to write it down, it looks a little different than the way we'd originally thought. The endgame is still in question, but we hope you will enjoy the angst-filled rollercoaster ride. 
> 
> Spoilers through season 2, but it deviates from canon after that. Warnings for discussion of suicide. This is a Klaine and Kurtofsky-friendly story; no character-bashing here. 
> 
> We have a mix on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/nubianamy/come-rain-or-come-shine); come listen!
> 
> \- amy and knittycat

 2012

There was no way Kurt was not going to pick up when the call came in from Dave Karofsky, not after what had happened, but he still felt a twinge of anxiety, watching Blaine across the table from him. Blaine raised an eyebrow, nodding at Kurt's phone inquisitively.

" _David,"_  he mouthed, and Blaine just nodded, not even making one comment. Blaine wouldn't, either, not anymore, even if he was as far from being Dave's biggest fan as one could be. He sat there patiently and kept his focus away from the phone, giving Kurt a little mental space in which to listen.

It had happened recently enough that Kurt was still a little scared every time he talked to Dave that something could have happened to him. Not that Dave ever said it was going to, or even that Kurt would expect it of him, exactly. Rather, it was now, Kurt  _cared_  more than he had before. The memories of that guilt-ridden day in the hospital when Dave had struggled to explain his reasons, they'd haunted him. Not so much because he thought he absolutely could have done something to stop Dave if he'd really been determined to go through with it, but because he  _knew_  he didn't want to be the kind of person who said he wanted to be somebody's friend and then didn't actually do anything about it.

"Hey there," he said cheerfully-but-not-too-cheerfully, leaning back in his chair.

"Hey." Dave still sounded uncertain on the phone, as though he were waiting for Kurt to say  _okay, done with this now._  Kurt felt determined not to let that happen. He wasn't going to be a fake friend, but he also wasn't going to pretend to want to be Dave's real one. He was going to  _actually_  be his friend, not just because Dave needed one, but because Kurt had meant it when he'd said he wanted to. He heard Dave cough. "So... uh. Terrence?"

Dave's therapist wasn't gay, as far as Kurt knew, no matter how gay his name sounded. "Yes? What, is he making you do those breathing exercises again? Because those are the worst -"

"He's making me go to a fucking PFLAG meeting is what he's doing."

Kurt's mouth closed with a snap. Dave sounded more than annoyed - well, that too, but yes, more than that. He sounded terrified.  _That's scaring you,_  he wanted to say, but he didn't want Blaine to hear it. It wasn't fair to make Blaine scared, too. That would have made three of them, because the prickle down his back wasn't lying. He shifted forward in his seat again, drumming his leg with the palm of his hand.

"It's not the end of the world," he said, as calmly as he could manage.

"Yeah, you would say that." Dave's sigh was far too dramatic, but instead of driving Kurt to annoyance, as a similar reaction from Blaine would have done, Kurt just felt sorry for him. It was true. Kurt didn't mind support groups. Talking about himself in front of strangers, that was kind of awesome. But it seemed to be causing Dave actual pain.

"Why don't I go with you?"

The idea was out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking it, and he froze mid-drum, watching Blaine glance up quizzically.  _What?_  he mouthed. Kurt shook his head.

"Uh,  _no,"_  said Dave emphatically. "Just... no."

"It'd be a lot harder to back out if somebody came with you. I wouldn't need to walk in with you, if you were..." Kurt let the sentence trail away into silence.

Dave sounded suspicious. "If I were  _what?"_

"You know." Kurt flushed and turned to the side, just a quarter turn - like it was going to keep Blaine from hearing what he said. "Embarrassed."

"About - you mean about you?"

Kurt frowned, straightening his shirt. "Don't sound so surprised. This isn't the first time you've told me you don't want to go with me somewhere, and it won't be the -"

"You know what, Kurt?  _Screw you._ " Dave just sounded tired. This wasn't what Kurt had intended.

"You know it's the truth, so don't be mad at me for saying it. I  _know_  all the ways I push your buttons, David. I just thought I'd offer support. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"Yeah, maybe." He paused, then added in a rush, "I can just see it all in my head, how it would be to walk into that stupid meeting with you, and to feel like -" He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh.

"Like what?" Kurt tried not to watch Blaine watching him. He looked curious, and concerned, and kind of morbidly fascinated like he really  _didn't_ want to know what Dave was saying.

"Like... such a fucking loser."

"You're not a loser." Kurt tucked his phone further into his shoulder and lowered his voice even more. "And PFLAG isn't just for gay kids. You don't even have to come out there, if you don't want.

"Yeah. Right. Kurt, you think I could set one foot in a room with rainbows on the freaking door and have anybody assume I'm not - like that?"

"Well." Kurt let out a slightly bitter laugh. "You sure surprised  _me_  that day, in the locker room. I always thought I had impeccable gaydar, but apparently I was wrong."

There was a brief silence. For a moment, Kurt wondered if he'd pushed Dave too far. It was still hard to predict whether that particular topic would feel hurtful or teasing, when either of them brought it up. Then he heard Dave chuckle, and Kurt let out a relieved breath.

"Nice to know you're not good at  _everything,"_ Dave muttered.

Kurt smiled even though Dave couldn't see him. "Think about it and let me know, if you want me to go with you?"

Dave made some grumbly non-committal noises, but Kurt felt pretty sure that even if he wasn't ready to do it yet, Dave would invite him to go with him eventually. It was a little surprising to feel like he knew Dave well enough to predict his responses.

He tucked his phone back into his bag and moved to sit next to Blaine. Somehow he needed that extra physical contact after dealing with Dave's angst.

"How's he doing?" Blaine asked, squeezing his hand.

"He's hanging in there. I think -" Kurt paused and rubbed at the space between his eyes. "I think he still has a long way to go before he's really comfortable with himself. I'm sure he'll get there, but I don't expect it's going to happen quickly."  _Or easily_ , he thought to himself.  _Dave is still so hung up on appearances_.

"Well, he's lucky to have a friend like you." Blaine's tone was a little forced, but Kurt appreciated how hard he was trying. He leaned over and kissed his cheek, eliciting a pleased smile.

"He deserves it," Kurt said, and he was pretty sure he meant it.

* * *

Dayton PFLAG met in the basement of the Unitarian Church. Kurt had to take a deep breath before walking inside, and he felt Dave's eyes on him.

"I thought you were here to calm  _me_  down." Dave rolled his head around and shrugged his shoulders like he was gearing up to jump into an ice-cold pool.

"Churches and I have a difficult relationship."

Dave's eyes went wide, and Kurt was momentarily afraid that Dave was panicking. But when he spoke, he was teasing in a way Kurt had never heard before. "I thought this was a support group. It's not like anyone is going to try to convert us or anything."

Kurt laughed hard enough to draw the attention of the three kids already in the room. Dave flushed red, pulling back from Kurt as they emerged from the dark hallway, but he didn't turn around and walk back out, which is what Kurt half expected him to do.

"I have to assume all Christians are out to convert me," he said under his breath. "I'm just that awesome."

Dave snorted gracelessly. "Be careful," he warned. "It would be terrible if I had to go to therapy next week and tell Terrence that we got kicked out of PFLAG for being unruly."

"Oh, because you're always such a  _good_  boy," Kurt retorted. The way Dave's eyes bugged out, Kurt thought he might actually kick him in the shin for that one.

"Shut up," Dave growled. But when Kurt dared to glance at him, the edges of his mouth were twitching like he was trying to keep from full-on grinning. It was the most relaxed Kurt had seen him since that night at Scandals, and maybe the most real he'd  _ever_  seen Dave.

There was a bowl of Oreo cookies and a pile of blank name tags next to a package of markers in rainbow colors. Kurt wrote his name in red and affixed it to his vest, but Dave just took a name tag and held it in his hand, staring at it.

"You don't have to wear a name tag," said the girl sitting across from them. "Nobody would think it was weird. New kids usually don't."

She stood and walked over to them, and Kurt blinked, because she didn't hold herself like any girl he'd ever met. Her name tag was blank.

"Are you a new kid?" Dave asked. Kurt was surprised to hear him talking to the girl, or indeed at all.

"Nah," she said. "I've been coming here for years. I'm still finding the right name. My parents named me Michelle, which. Well. Would be fine if I was a girl."

Dave peered at her. "Yeah, you don't look like a Mickey."

Her -  _his?_  - laughter was infectious. "I've heard people suggest  _Mitch._  But I think that'd be too familiar.  _Mickey._  Jesus."

Dave took a breath and clapped his hand on not-Michelle's shoulder. "The right name'll find you. But what should I call you, really? Because  _hey you_  just isn't good manners."

"Michelle's fine for now, until I figure it out. What about you?"

"Um..." Dave glanced at Kurt, who nodded. "I guess you could... call me DJ."

Michelle held out her hand and shook Dave's. "Nice to meet you, DJ. And . . ." she glanced at Kurt's name tag. "Kurt. This is Dylan, and Aimee. There'll be more kids coming, but don't feel like you have to learn everyone's name the first night."

Kurt smiled his thanks and nodded at the circle of chairs. "I guess we should get comfortable," he said to Dave. Dave still looked a little bit like he'd rather be trapped in a snake pit, or maybe an alligator-infested swamp, but he grabbed three Oreos out of the bowl and dropped into a chair next to Kurt, across the circle from Dylan and Aimee.

He had expected it to be facilitated by an adult, but the guy in charge couldn't have been much older than they were. He introduced himself as Shawn, and had a really aggressive smile. Kurt could tell he meant well, but he could see Dave shutting down as the guy prodded them to share about what was significant about their week.

Kurt shifted in his chair. He had to do something to break up the tension from all of the serious stories the others were telling. When it was his turn to share he felt his cheeks go a little hot before he blurted out, "My stepmother wasn't supposed to be home, so my boyfriend and I were, um. Testing out the stability of the kitchen table. And then Carole walked in."

Dave went from shocked to snorting with laughter in a matter of seconds. It started a chain reaction. The last one to join in was Shawn, and even though he looked a little uncertain, he was smiling a little more casually.

"Was she upset?" he asked. He directed the question to Dave. It took Kurt a beat too long to realize why, but Dave just laughed harder.

"What, you think the kitchen table could handle me? Five bucks says I'd reduce it to kindling in less than twenty minutes." His eyes flashed. "Fifteen if I was on top."

Kurt just shook his head and kept laughing until there were tears streaming down his face and he had to gasp for breath. "No, no," he finally said. "We're not - no. We're just friends. I'm here for moral support."

Dave nodded. "Kurt drove me so I couldn't back out. I'm hoping to get bonus points from my therapist if I stay for the whole meeting  _and_  participate."

"Well, you can tell your therapist you get full marks," Shawn assured him.

Dave settled back into his chair, nibbling on the outside of one of his Oreos. He didn't say a whole lot more for the rest of the hour, but he was definitely listening, and when Aimee talked about her dad's negative reaction to her coming out, he nodded in response.

"DJ, have you come out to your parents?" asked Shawn. Kurt wasn't sure if the question would shut him down again, but Dave just shrugged.

"I told them I was gay," he said. "But I don't know if that really counts. They don't even know who I am. That's just this tiny little piece of all of it, you know? And I don't know if they want to look any closer to see the rest, now. I think if I really came out, it would mean - being myself with them. I don't think I'll ever do that."

Kurt spent half a second considering before he reached out and grabbed Dave's hand, giving it a firm  _it's okay_  squeeze. Dave squeezed back, which told Kurt it really was okay.

It wasn't until they were in the car on the way home that Kurt said, casually, "Why DJ?"

"I don't know. They called me that at camp when I was a kid, because there was already a David. My middle name's James." He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, his eyes on the highway in front of them. "There was... a kid. At camp, like Michelle. He still went by a girl's name, too, but we all knew he was really a guy, and it was okay? Like, I don't think any of those guys would have known what to call it, or even if he would have known to tell us, but he was just... one of us, and it was fine."

"I hope you don't mind me continuing to call you David, at least outside of PFLAG," said Kurt. "I'm not sure I could get used to calling you something else all the time."

"That's fine." Kurt heard Dave swallow, and he turned to look out the window. "I kind of like it when you call me David. It's like, it helps me remember that you see the parts of me nobody else does."

Kurt felt his own mouth go dry, and he fumbled for something to say that wasn't completely inane. "I think everybody saw those parts, tonight. You were brave."

"It was easier than I expected. Something about nobody knowing me, you know? It's how I thought it would be when I transferred . . ." Dave's voice trailed off, and Kurt didn't push him to continue. He drove another ten miles before Dave spoke again. "I keep wondering what would have happened if I'd stayed at McKinley. At least there,  _you_  knew. I was just keeping the same secret again, and look where that got me."

Kurt took his right hand off the steering wheel and rested it on Dave's forearm. It felt warm. "I can only guess at how awful that was, for you. But David?" Dave turned and looked at him. Kurt took a breath and continued. "I'm really glad that you're still here."

"Did you ever, you know. Think about it?" Dave's voice was soft and kind of small.

"Yeah."

"When I was . . . when I was hurting you?"

"No," Kurt said, and he could feel Dave's surprise. "Back in middle school. I've always been the queerest kid in the room, but in seventh grade there was this kid who just wouldn't let up about it. It was the first times I'd heard those words with pure meanness behind them. I mean, there's a difference between taunting and hatred. Not much, but there is a difference. The hatred he had, the things it made me feel . . . it got to be too much."

Dave nodded silently, bowing his head. His hands were knotted in his lap. "It's kind of strange," he said, "to know I pretty much did the same things to you, and at the same time to be so pissed off at that kid for doing it, too."

"I had better coping skills by the time our paths collided." Kurt tried not to sigh. Their past was over and done. Dave had apologized and Kurt had accepted, but he knew from the way Dave talked sometimes that he still held tremendous guilt about it. "Once I actually came out, I knew how much it meant for me to get up and fight every day."

Dave went silent again, his attention focused on the other cars around them on the highway. It took Kurt a few minutes to realize that Dave was crying.

"Hey." Kurt didn't want to make Dave uncomfortable, but he was a little worried. "There's kleenex in the console. Are you okay?"

Dave sniffled. "I didn't fight. I was going to give up. I was so scared and ashamed that I was just going to give up." He rooted around for the kleenex and blew his nose noisily. "I'm still scared and ashamed, most of the time."

"But you did fight, for a long time. You don't have to stop fighting. Maybe you just need somebody to listen, to tell you they understand how hard it is."

"Terrence is kind of lousy at it. He answers my questions with more questions, and it kind of pisses me off."

Kurt sniffed as he switched on his turn signal. "I don't care what you say, Terrence is a  _totally_  gay name. And I didn't mean you had to talk to him. I've been told I can be a pretty decent listener, as long as it isn't about sports."

Dave was silent for another moment, and then he nodded, peeking at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. "I... I'd like that."

"Me, too." He cut around the minivan doing 35 in a 65. "Now. We should go have coffee and dessert. I need more chocolate than those Oreos."

"As long as you won't judge me if I order something that  _isn't_  coffee. I can't stand that shit."

Kurt suppressed a smile, trying to look outraged. "That's  _sacrilege_ , David. But I suppose I can overlook your coffee hatred if you share a dessert with me."

* * *

Kurt didn't mean to try to hide Dave's texts from Blaine. He just didn't like the vaguely hurt expression Blaine got when he laughed at one of Dave's jokes or brought up something they'd discussed. It wasn't that he was trying to protect Blaine, exactly. Even though they got to see a lot more of each other now that Blaine was in Lima, he really didn't want to waste it on damage control.

It happened while they were sitting together at the Lima Bean, both of them on one side of the booth, feet propped up on the bench on the other side. Kurt felt his phone buzz, and he fumbled with his left hand to extract his phone from his pocket while hanging on to Blaine with the other.

 _I am totally jonesing for a black and white brownie right now,_  Dave had written.

"Who's that?" Blaine asked, his smile looking more like a frown as he watched Kurt's eyes move over the text on the screen.

Kurt used his thumb to peck out a reply.  _That's because chocolate always makes therapy better. And I don't think Terrence would approve if you skip to meet me and Blaine._

"David," he said, sending the text and setting his phone on the table next to his elbow. He didn't look at Blaine.

"You know you don't always have to answer your phone when someone texts you." Blaine poked at the coffee glass with his straw wrapper. "Asynchronous communication is asynchronous."

"I told you." Kurt paused to take a sip of his mocha. "I promised Dave that I'd always answer him."

"Yeah, but Dave wouldn't know if you hadn't read his texts. Maybe you were in the bathroom, or watching something good on television. Or making out with your boyfriend. Anything."

"He doesn't have anyone else." Kurt levelled Blaine with a Look, but kept his voice gentle. "I know you know what that feels like."

"See, that's what makes you awesome. How many guys would forgive their former stalker and go with them to PFLAG meetings?" Blaine shook his head, grinning. "Above and beyond as always, Kurt. You know I admire you so much, right?"

Kurt didn't know what to say. He didn't think he was doing anything to warrant Blaine's admiration, and he certainly wasn't going to PFLAG with Dave to make it  _look_  like he cared. He actually  _did_  care, and the more he got to know Dave, the more he genuinely liked him. It was very easy to be Dave's friend; he just wished sometimes that Blaine could understand that.

When Blaine asked him why he was buying a brownie to take home, he had to stifle his exasperation. "Maybe I just want an extra brownie?"

"Okay," Blaine said, both eyebrows going up. "Sure. You can have as many brownies as you want."

Kurt took a long breath, closing his eyes to try to relax. "No. It's not for me; it's for David. I just - do I have to  _explain_  everything?"

"No," Blaine said, but his reassurances were a little too quick to come. "Dave is your friend, I  _get_  that. I mean, I don't really  _understand_  it, but you don't understand my friendship with Trent either, so. I guess we're even?"

"I don't need it to be a contest, Blaine." He felt stupid for being upset. Blaine was right, of course. He leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Maybe I'll buy you a brownie sometime. When you least expect it."

Blaine grinned at him and took his hand as they made their way to the parking lot. "I would  _love_  that."

Kurt intended to drive home, but he found himself winding down the neighborhood street to Dave's dad's house. Paul smiled at Kurt through the screen door.

"He just got back," he said, holding the door open for Kurt. Kurt stepped inside and headed up the stairs to Dave's room. The door was closed, but Kurt could hear music playing. He knocked firmly.

Dave answered the knock after a few seconds; Kurt thought he might have turned the music down. "Dad, I - oh." He stopped, staring at Kurt in surprise. "Hi."

Kurt held up the brown bakery bag. "Brownie?" he said with a grin.

Dave's grin seemed reluctant, but he took the bag, opening it and peering inside. "You really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. It sounded like maybe you needed it."

Dave motioned for Kurt to step into his room; he shut the door behind them. "Terrence would say you're encouraging me to eat my feelings."

"Screw Terrence." Kurt knew why Dave needed therapy. He also thought, from the things Dave had told him, that Terrence didn't always have an accurate vision of what being a gay teenager in Ohio was like.

"All right," Dave said, laughing. "Thanks. I won't tell him you said that. And next time, I'm buying."

There was a silence that got more awkward as it progressed. Kurt wanted to brush it off, wanted to say  _sure, fine, then we'll be even_ , but he couldn't find the appropriately light and teasing tone that he needed. It felt like they were walking an invisible and arbitrary line, and Kurt was very suddenly keenly aware that he had no freaking idea what he was doing.

"Well... I'll see you Thursday." He gave Dave a little wave that would later make him cringe when he remembered doing it, feeling like a complete idiot.

Paul called out a casual farewell as he headed for the door, but Kurt didn't stop to chat. His dad still didn't trust Paul Karofsky, or Dave either, for that matter, and Kurt found it easier to avoid bringing one up around the other. That was what he told himself, anyway.

He took the long way home, back past his dad's shop and the Lima Bean again, through the neighborhood where he'd grown up and past the house they'd lived in until his dad and Carole got married. He parked in the empty lot at Independence and stared at the playground.

He wished he knew better how to be Dave's friend. He felt like he was making it all up, because there were no rules for how to be there for the guy who used to shove you into lockers, who'd stolen your first kiss in a cold and empty locker room. Kurt didn't feel like Dave was that guy anymore, but he supposed he  _had_  to be, somewhere inside. He imagined that was the thing that scared his dad most about Kurt and Dave's friendship. With Blaine, he wasn't always perfectly happy, but he felt like he had the situation mostly under control.

 _But that's not the way it is with David,_  he thought, and shivered.

Sometimes he felt reckless when he was with Dave, when they talked and joked and Kurt got to see the things Dave didn't show anyone else. When  _Kurt_  showed those same things to Dave.

The vulnerable feeling hung on long enough that on Thursday he considered asking Michelle and some of the other guys to join them for coffee and dessert afterwards. It might be easier if they could just hang out with other guys. But the closer they got to the end of meeting, the less he wanted to do that. This was his time with David, his  _only_  time, and he didn't want to share it with anyone else.

"You okay?" Dave asked as they walked through the parking lot back to the Navigator. "I know a discussion about stereotypes isn't the most scintillating conversation, but I figured you'd have  _some_  kind of a snarky comment when one of the guys started up about gay men and theater."

Kurt unlocked the car with his remote and waited until they were both settled into their seats before he said anything. "Do you ever just get tired?"

"Um." Dave shifted in his seat, fumbled for the seatbelt. "Well,  _that's_  a really stupid question. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

 _Fuck. Right._  "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, do you ever get tired of having to fight your reputation? Do you wish you could just go somewhere else and start over, re-create yourself?"

Dave shrugged, staring out across the dash. "I did that, when I changed schools. It's not really as great as it sounds. Besides all the thinking stuff - trying to figure out where I even  _want_  to belong, much less who'd accept me - it's fucking lonely. Not having anybody around who's known me for longer than a couple weeks is harder than I'd expected it to be."

Kurt wanted to say  _I'm here, and I do know you,_  but the truth was he really wasn't sure he did. Part of it was that Dave wasn't easy to decipher sometimes, but Kurt knew a good deal of it was his own reluctance to open up to Dave. So he just said, "I'm sorry."

They drove in silence. They didn't stop for coffee that night, and when Kurt got home he hugged his dad hard, kissed Carole on her cheek, and brought Finn a stack of chocolate chip cookies from their secret stash in the back of the pantry. Once he was closed in his room in the dark, he crawled into bed with his clothes still on and cried himself to sleep.

He slept fitfully, finally waking around 2 am from a dream that felt all too real, where Dave's father hadn't found him in time. He shivered and blinked in the dark, and worked for long minutes to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. When he thought he could stand, he got out of bed and padded softly down to the kitchen.

Kurt wasn't there for more than ten minutes before Finn appeared in the doorway in his pajamas, yawning and scratching his head. He watched Kurt preparing the warm milk at the stove for about a minute before saying anything.

"Kinda figured you'd be up tonight, the way you were after your thing tonight."

"Because I brought you cookies?"

"No, because you were grabbing onto everybody like they were those floaties at the wave pool." He pulled a chair out at the table and sat, his long legs stretching out into the center of the kitchen. "You and Blaine have a fight or something?"

"No." Kurt stared at the cinnamon swirling into little flecks as he stirred the milk. "I wasn't with Blaine."

"Mmm." Finn smiled, accepting the mug Kurt poured for him without comment, and took a sip. "Is that group going okay? The P-FIG?"

Kurt turned his back to Finn and set the pan in the sink so that Finn couldn't see him trying to hold back a laugh. "PFLAG," he corrected when he could speak again.

"Right. That." Finn wasn't deterred. "Yeah, I was thinking maybe I should come sometime. You know, to be a friend-and-family."

"That would be wonderful." Kurt took his mug and sat across from Finn at the table.

"Dave's going, isn't he." Finn watched Kurt over the edge of his own mug. "Isn't that kind of weird, having him there?"

"Not weird," Kurt said. "We drive down together. He's a nice guy."

"Uh huh. If he's a nice guy, why were you crying earlier?"

"It wasn't anything he  _did_ , it was something we talked about. It just made me thankful to have you guys as my family, you know?"

Finn smiled at that. "Yeah. I really do. Our family's a little strange, but I like it that way. Makes me feel proud, that we're not just like everybody else."

"The Hudson-Hummels: paragons of non-traditional family since 2010."

"I have no idea what that means," he said, shoving Kurt's bare foot with his toe, "but sure, yeah. Definitely."

Kurt drained his mug of the last of his milk. "We should go back to bed," he said, chuckling at the way Finn's hair was sticking out all around his head. "You have boy-band hair, by the way."

"Fuck you," Finn mumbled. "Like you're one to talk, brother-mine. Full-on electrical socket right there."

"Good  _night_ , Finn," Kurt whispered as they reached the hall. He waited until Finn was back in his room before slipping into his own and closing the door softly.

As soon as Kurt climbed back into bed, he reached for his phone, typing out a message to Dave.  _Couldn't sleep, scary dreams. Hope you're okay._

The reply came back quickly enough that Kurt could be certain he hadn't been the one to awaken Dave with his text.  _I'm trying to get back to sleep, but it's not working so well._

 _Are we okay?_  Kurt sent back.

This time the pause was longer. Kurt huddled under the covers, cupping the phone close to his face.

 _Of course we're okay,_  Dave wrote.  _We're always going to be okay._

Kurt sighed with relief.  _Okay. Thank you. Go to sleep, David._

It wasn't until morning, when Kurt woke to find his phone smashed beneath him between his cheek and the bed, that he realized Dave had replied before signing off:  _I think I can, now._

* * *

"Hey," Michelle stopped them as everyone was stacking their chairs after the meeting. "A bunch of us are going out to eat, once we're cleaned up. You guys wanna come?"

Kurt glanced at his watch; the meeting had run late, and he had a math test the next morning. "I need to get home," he said in apology. "Stupid math."

Michelle nodded. "How about you, DJ?"

"Kurt's my ride," Dave shrugged, taking his chair  _and_  Kurt's and hauling them up onto the stack in the corner. "Maybe next time?"

"I can give you a ride, if you want. Lima's not  _so_ far from Sidney," Michelle offered.

Dave paused for a few seconds and Kurt watched him weighing his options. "Not tonight," he said finally. "My dad's gotten a little weird, if I'm not where I am when I say I'm going to be there."

"Okay," Michelle said. "Well. I think next week we're gonna try that new pizza place up the street, so bring your appetites." He jogged away to catch up to the crowd of boys working their way out onto the street.

Kurt just stared at Dave. "Your father? Really? You couldn't come up with a better excuse than that?"

"I just didn't want you to have to drive home alone."

"Uh huh. C'mon. I really do have a test tomorrow, and I'm nowhere  _near_  as good at math as you are."

Dave rubbed his arms. "I guess I'd feel weird going out without you. This whole thing - I never would have come if you hadn't come with me. I'd just be sitting at home blaming myself for not being brave enough, but there's no way I'd do it."

"If you want to go, you should. Don't turn the other guys down because of me." Kurt put on a good,  _not jealous_  attitude, but he was oddly bothered by the idea of Dave interrupting their post-meeting ritual to go out with other people.  _It's good for Dave to have other friends,_  Kurt thought to himself in the silence.  _He needs to be able to find his own community, because I won't be able to help him next year._  "Maybe you should drive yourself next week. So you could do that, if you wanted."

Dave looked a little panicked, so Kurt put a hand out and patted his arm.

"They're just  _boys_ , David. You're a boy. Everything will be fine."

"I'm pretty sure the last time I had to hang out with other boys, it wasn't like this," he protested.

"Why, because there wasn't a chance one of them would want to hook up with you?" Kurt couldn't help it; sometimes, it was really fun to tease Dave.

"God," he muttered, turning pink. " _No._  Because - you don't get it, do you? What it feels like to be sure you don't deserve something like this? I walk into that room every week and I'm absolutely fucking certain I should just turn around and go home."

"You deserve to be happy," Kurt said, softly. "It's okay to find your own community, make your own friends. It's okay to just be yourself, David."

Dave smiled bitterly at him from the passenger seat. "I'm pretty sure nobody would want to hang out with me, if they really knew who I was. Except you."

"You're smart and funny, and underneath your slightly gruff exterior you're a giant teddy bear. I  _like_  hanging out with you, even if you refuse to drink coffee." He reached out and grabbed Dave's hand, startling him, and gave it a firm squeeze. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Now, are we going to get dessert, or are you going to make me go home and study?"

* * *

Dave didn't drive himself to PFLAG every week after that, but usually two weeks a month he would text Kurt in the afternoon to tell him he was going to go on his own. Kurt didn't skip those weeks, but he thought about it. It was unexpectedly hard, watching "DJ" find the kind of community at PFLAG that Kurt had always longed for himself.

The closer they got to graduation, the more Kurt distanced himself from Dave's social circle. It would be easier to make the break earlier, Kurt thought, rather than in August when they'd both be heading off to college.

Dave seemed oddly reticent to talk about college plans. Kurt knew it wasn't because of his grades; Dave had successfully camouflaged himself as a dumb jock at McKinley, but that didn't mean he wasn't getting A's behind everybody's back. At Heritage he'd made an effort, and Kurt heard him talk about how it was easier not having to be the tough guy.

"It still sucks a lot of the time," Dave told him one evening, sprawled on Kurt's bed with Kurt's indecipherable calculus book, but he didn't actually seem too upset about it.

"Just think," Kurt said, choosing his words carefully. "Next year you'll be in college. It'll be even better then. Now, would you please try to explain derivatives to me again?"

Thursday afternoon, the first week of April, Kurt got home to find a large, fat envelope from NYADA propped against the fruit bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. His heart thudded triple-time. Big and fat was good.

Big and fat was  _very_  good.

He sat staring at the envelope for what felt like seconds, but had to have been a really long time, because his dad was banging around in the garage and when Kurt lifted his eyes from the table the sun was slanting in through the kitchen window the way it did every day after 5. "Shit," he mumbled, and tugged his phone out of his pocket.

 _Not going tonight_ , he sent to Dave.  _Sorry. Family stuff._

_Everything ok?_

_y_.  _I'll tell you about it later._  It felt a little weird, not telling Dave, but he needed to tell his family and Blaine first.

But he really  _wanted_  to tell Dave. They didn't talk much when they were together, but being with him all spring at PFLAG, he'd heard Dave talk more about his own life than he'd ever thought he would hear - and he'd shared nearly as much about his life, too. Sometimes Kurt felt that, despite a lot of the silence that hung between the two of them, Dave knew him even better than Blaine did.

He shot off a quick text to Blaine in the seconds before his dad burst through the door:  _NYADA!_

Blaine sent back an entire line of smiley faces and then  _I'm totally coming over after you celebrate with your family, and I'll bring congratulatory ice cream._

Kurt grinned.

"You're happy," his dad said as he stepped out of his work boots.

Kurt waved his envelope back and forth. "I got my letter today."

His dad spun around with his arms in the air and then grabbed Kurt into a giant bear hug. "Whooo! That's my boy. I  _knew_  you were gonna get in. Does Blaine know?"

"Yeah. He's coming over later."

His father fixed him with a stare. "Does Dave know? Isn't tonight your PFLAG night?"

"I let him know I wasn't going to be there. We'll talk about it later, it'll be fine."

Kurt wasn't sure if he was trying to convince his dad or himself, because he honestly didn't know if he and Dave  _would_  be okay. Things had never been easy between them, but lately things were tense and strange in a way that felt even worse than when they actively hated each other. He'd been so excited to get the NYADA letter, but now he had no idea how he could express that to him without confronting some of the other things that seemed to be getting in their way.

"Okay," his dad clapped his shoulder. "I'll go shower. I'm guessing we're going out to celebrate?"

"Yeah. Blaine's going to come for ice cream later, once we're home."

His dad smiled at him and headed off down the hall. Kurt just sat at the table and stared at his envelope some more.

After dinner at their favorite Chinese place, Kurt and Blaine sat curled together on the couch passing a pint of Phish Food between them while Finn sat on the floor in front of them working on his own pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie.

"You sure you don't want to pick the movie?" Blaine asked Finn, nudging Finn's shoulder with his socked foot. Finn gave him a baleful glare.

"You're only offering because I got rejected from Pace. I'm so  _sick_  of everyone feeling sorry for me. Puck even offered me a consolation six pack, but I just want to be alone with my ice cream and my shattered dreams."

"And everyone says  _I'm_  a drama queen," Kurt teased. "There are plenty of drama programs everywhere. There's no law that says you can't transfer in a year." He peered over Finn's shoulder and frowned even though Finn couldn't see him. "Are you really going to eat  _all_  of that?"

"Hey! No judging at movie night. Isn't that, like, the first rule of movie night?" Finn set his ice cream on the floor in front of him.

"Fine. Since you aren't picking the movie, I guess I will this week." He chose  _The Goodbye Girl,_ which his dad always told him was one of his mom's favorites, which predisposed him to love it in the first place. But, really, it was funny and sweet and romantic, and Kurt should have been happy with that. The fact that he wasn't was a little unnerving.

"Hey," Blaine said softly as the credits rolled. "You okay?" He toyed a little with the hair at the nape of Kurt's neck. Kurt shivered at Blaine's touch.

"Yeah," he replied, because what was he supposed to say?  _Everything feels different and I don't know why_?  _Why am I so worried about disappointing someone I still barely know?_

"C'mere." Blaine tugged at Kurt's hand until Kurt was stretched out almost on top of him. "I never got to give you your congratulations kiss." He lifted his head up and touched his lips to Kurt's with a loud smack.

Kurt shook his head. "That was the worst congratulations kiss ever. Maybe we need to try again?"

Blaine just grinned up at him, a little silly and a little lazy, but he wasn't lazy once they were kissing, completely oblivious to Finn, who had fallen asleep on the floor half an hour into the movie. Kurt wanted so badly to lose himself in the pressure of Blaine's mouth, the movement of his hands over Kurt's skin, tugging at the hem of his shirt, tangled in his hair. He wanted to, but he just couldn't let go.

Blaine gave their attempted making out a few more moments before sighing and leaning back on his elbow, regarding him thoughtfully. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who's really happy about getting into the school of your dreams."

"It's not about NYADA," Kurt blurted out before he could stop himself. "I mean, it is, but it's not?"

"I need more than that," Blaine pushed. "I love you, but I can't read your mind."

Kurt sighed, more out of frustration than anguish. " _I_  can't even read my mind tonight. I have no idea what's bothering me."

"Okay." He kissed him again, more softly this time. "Can I ask you for something, then?"

"Yes?"

"When you do figure it out... tell me about it?" He smoothed Kurt's hair back from around his ears, where it was already getting a little too long. "I don't need you to be certain about everything, but I'd rather not sit in the dark by myself."

The image was a little too evocative, and after Blaine left, Kurt turned on all the lights in his room, along with some Linkin Park, before attempting to poke at the infuriating calculus homework. He was angrily erasing half his problem set, and thinking about getting a fresh piece of paper, when his phone started buzzing.

_*pebbles hitting your window*_

Kurt smiled quizzically. The text came again, repeated, and then he got it, standing to walk to the window and looking out. Dave was there, on the sidewalk, with his phone in his hands, looking somewhat sheepish. Kurt pushed up the window, leaning against the screen.

"Yeah, I know, I'm a dork," Dave called. "I didn't want to interrupt your family thing."

"Everyone's asleep now. Well. Except for me, clearly, but this damn math . . ."

He shrugged, rubbing his neck. "I can give you a hand with that."

Kurt let him in through the side door. Finn was still asleep on the floor in the family room next to the half-eaten bowl of popcorn.

"He okay?" Dave nodded at Finn's snoring figure.

"Yeah. He crashed out during the movie, and it's a pretty bad idea to wake him up once he's out. He gets a little bear-like."

Kurt could barely see Dave's smirk in the almost-darkness. "Don't tease the animals?"

Kurt snorted. "Something like that."

They tiptoed up the stairs, past his dad and Carole's room, and shut the door to Kurt's. He realized, too late, that the NYADA letter was strewn all over the bed. Dave sat down slowly, picking up the papers. His smile was excited. "Kurt? Did you...?"

"Yeah." Kurt pinched the skin on his forearm absently, just to remind himself that he  _was_  actually living the fact that he'd gotten in. "Yeah. I got the letter today... that's why I wasn't at group tonight. I kind of can't believe it."

Dave clutched the piece of paper hard enough to wrinkle it. "That's - congratulations! I mean, wow. You've been so worried, and..." He seemed to realize what he was doing, and set the paper down on the bed. His hands clutched at his own knees, as though he didn't know what to do with them. "I'm just... I'm really happy for you."

There was something off in Dave's voice, and Kurt watched his hands working, clenching and unfurling. He could almost  _feel_  the wired energy coursing through Dave's body. Kurt sat carefully on the edge of his bed, close enough to touch but far enough away to be distant. He put one hand on Dave's. "David."

"What?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." But Dave's voice betrayed him, hoarse and broken.

"Liar. I thought Terrence was on you about honesty."

"Kurt." He looked at him reproachfully, almost desperately. "Just drop it, okay?"

"If nothing's wrong, there's nothing to drop." Kurt knew he was being a little mean, poking at Dave like that, but he thought he knew by now how far he could push him.

Dave sighed, knotting his fingers together. "Okay. Would you accept that there's something, and I'd rather not talk about it right now? We can do your calculus, and I'll tell you about Michelle's latest crisis, and - I don't know, you can play me some of those obnoxious showtunes."

Kurt nodded, gathering up the pieces of the NYADA letter. "Fine. Just . . . you know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Yeah." Dave reached out and turned Kurt's book around. "Now. Tell me what you don't understand."

Kurt flopped back on the bed and groaned in frustration. "I don't understand any of it. It's like Japanese or that language Sam speaks, from that movie."

Dave smirked as he settled against the wall, stretching out his legs. "Sam used to speak  _na'vi_  at football practice sometimes. I always wondered how many other guys in that locker room were listening and could understand."

"You really think there's a closet geek population on the football team?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it. Puckerman's the video game expert, but he also knows way more than he lets on about anime. And Matt used to quote Star Wars before it was cool again."

"Then there's you. You had the best GPA on the team, didn't you?"

"That's nerdiness," he corrected. "Nerdiness isn't necessarily the same as geekiness. And that was never a secret. Like, I would never have joined Academic Decathalon or anything, but all the guys knew they could come to me if they needed help with their chemistry or math. I'm pretty sure I wrote half their English term papers."

Kurt watched as Dave worked the problem set like he wasn't even thinking about it. "I think Mr. Vernon will notice if I suddenly become a calculus star, especially since I'm barely pulling a C."

"Trust me, that's covered." Dave tipped the notebook over to Kurt. "Here. Write the word 'derivative' here."

Kurt did. Dave took the notebook back and proceeded to copy the word exactly. Kurt couldn't even tell which one he'd written and which one Dave had copied. He stared at the problem set.

"You - you did the work in my handwriting?"

"And I made sure to get a reasonable percentage of them wrong." He grinned at Kurt's discomfiture. He kicked off his shoes, crossing his legs underneath him on the bedspread. "C'mere, let me show you what I did. You're totally smart enough to get this."

"Give me a minute. I have to turn off the lights and lock the front door."

Kurt left Dave on the bed while he hurried downstairs. He locked up quickly, but took an extra minute in the kitchen, quietly gathering two glasses of water and the secret bag of Oreos he kept in the back of the pantry. He had this weird ball of uncertainty in his stomach. He liked to think he'd gotten pretty good at reading Dave, but he honestly had no idea what was even happening right now. It felt important, though, like something he should pay extra attention to.

"I brought snacks," he said, holding up the Oreos once he'd nudged his door closed.

Dave was leafing through his calculus textbook. He accepted the glass of water Kurt handed him, absently sipping it and setting it on the floor next to the bed. "Mr. Vernon won't cover this part," he said, pointing at the second-to-last chapter, "not with only six weeks left of school, but this last chapter will definitely be on the AP exam. I think if you're going to bother trying to understand any of it, this is the stuff that would get you the most points."

"I'll take my tutor's word for it." He held the Oreo bag in his lap as he sat at the foot of the bed, watching Dave spread out the work with methodical organization. "David... it's getting late."

"Oh." Dave looked up quickly, saw the clock, and glanced back at Kurt guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"No, no - I mean, I didn't want you to get in trouble for being here too late. You're helping me, I promise." He put a hand on Dave's leg before he could attempt to get up. "You can stay, if you want. I mean, if your dad won't freak out about you not coming home."

Dave frowned a little. "I dunno. Are you sure  _your_  dad won't freak out, if I stay?"

"He might." There was really no  _might_  about it, he would  _definitely_  freak, but in that moment Kurt didn't really care. "I missed seeing you tonight," he offered, like it was some kind of explanation. "Please stay?"

Slowly, Dave leaned back against the wall, watching Kurt intently. "Okay. I mean... yeah, sure. If it's helping." His gaze flickered around Kurt's room with mild dismay. Kurt could see, through his eyes, the hard wood floors, the dearth of any other comfortable surfaces besides Kurt's double bed. "I, um. Do you want to take a look at this problem or not?"

"I'm not going to bite, David."

Dave scowled at the notebook in his lap, his cheeks pink. "I'm just thinking about your reputation. Don't you think Finn would fucking kill me? And Blaine... I don't know, Kurt. Maybe I should go home."

"Are you ashamed of being my friend? Because I'm not ashamed of being  _your_  friend. Or maybe you're scared of what people will think? You're already out, there's no risk for you being seen with me."

"What the -" He glared at Kurt in outrage. "Are you kidding? This isn't about you or me. You know people; they're going to assume, two gay guys in one room, overnight, that things are happening. No matter what we say."

"Then let them. We graduate in less than a month. It doesn't matter. Unless . . ." Kurt paused, tilted his head and regarded Dave, who was huddled up on himself. "David. Do you trust me?"

Dave uncurled a little bit. He rested his head back against the wall, eyes closed tightly. "Y-yes," he said, breathing fast and ragged. "I trust  _you._ I just don't trust  _me_."

Kurt was transfixed by Dave's flushed face, but he refused to give in to it. He tossed his head and rolled his eyes, as theatrically as he could manage. "I think I can handle it. Come on, you were going to fill my brain with an appreciation of calculus."

"You're really sure?" Dave asked cautiously. "It's okay if I stay?"

"I'm  _sure_ ," Kurt reassured him again. "Now please. Tell me what I need to do to salvage my GPA, here."

Dave talked him through the rest of the problems on the page, and even made him work some of the even-numbered ones, even though they weren't part of his homework. Once he seemed satisfied with Kurt's progress, he let Kurt close the notebook as they stretched out and started talking about the week's news -  _gossip, David_ , Kurt teased lightly - from PFLAG.

"You know I'm not supposed to talk about specifics," he cautioned, "because of the confidentiality rule."

Kurt snorted. "Like I couldn't figure out who you're talking about. Go on, try me."

"Everyone is worked up about prom."

"By everyone you mean Gabe and Matt, because their school doesn't allow same-sex dates - at least not  _boys -_  so Matt has to take his sister instead of getting to go with Gabe. Did Gabe decide on his date?"

Dave chuckled a little. "Michelle offered, since technically he's a she, but one of his debate friends from Findlay is going with him."

"I'm really glad I get to go with Blaine. Are you going to go to your prom?"

Dave shrugged. "Maybe. I asked Santana, and she said she'd be my beard again, if I wanted. It just seems silly, going to prom at a school where I hardly know anyone."

"Do you think you'd regret it, if you don't go?"

"Probably not. It doesn't seem so important anymore." He glanced at Kurt. "You?"

"I don't know." Kurt closed his eyes. "It's better, than it was last year, but I still worry a little, you know? I mean, I can't imagine Figgins would allow another fiasco, but . . ." he trailed off.

"Figgins is a clueless  _ass_ ," Dave growled. "He really should have expelled me for what I did to you."

Dave's anger was sudden, and Kurt tried not to show how much it shook him. He smiled and gave Dave a careless shrug. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on all of that? I told you a long time ago I forgive you."

"It's not even  _about_  you, anymore. I just..." Dave picked at a loose thread on Kurt's comforter, eyes down and voice a little gentled. "I feel like, if anyone had  _really_  been paying attention, maybe I could have gotten actual help last year, instead of basically being left alone. Maybe . . . maybe I wouldn't have tried, if someone had cared enough to just  _look_  at me."

It was almost too much for Kurt to handle. He rubbed his own arms, trying to take the sting out of the words. He knew Dave didn't mean them to hurt, but the words Dave was saying were a little too close to the ones he often heard in his own head, the familiar message of self-recrimination. "I'm so sorry, David," was all he could manage.

"None of this is your fault, Kurt. I'm just . . ." Dave leaned his head back against the wall with a thunk. "I've got problems, okay?"

"We all have problems." Kurt watched him, his anxiety mounting, until at last he reached out and grasped Dave's hand. It made him startle, and he stared back at Kurt, eyes wide. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If it got so bad again that you felt like... I mean, I hope you wouldn't..."

"Terrence says that what I did was reactionary. I'm out now, so apparently that shouldn't happen again? I dunno. He's the shrink, but I guess it makes sense. They took away my control, but I have that back, now. I honestly don't think I'll ever get there again, but then, I never thought I'd get there in the first place, so. If I promise you'll be my first call, will that be enough?"

Kurt nodded. When he realized he was biting his bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark, he made an effort to stop. "I appreciate it. Really. I know it doesn't have anything to do with me, that what you were going through was so much more awful than what I was feeling, but..." He looked Dave in the face. "It was horrible. Right up there with the day my dad had his heart attack. I - I don't care much for hospitals, but this was -" He had to swallow before going on. "I felt so powerless. I had no idea what was going on."

"I'm so sorry, Kurt. God, my dad and I have hashed this out over and over and over again, but I never told you. It was like everything was just dark, and I felt so numb, and I couldn't - I couldn't even  _see_  anything, any kind of way for things to get better. I didn't know what else to do."

He nodded again. "When I was... when things were bad, for me... I'm pretty sure I never got to that point, but there were a lot of moments along the way when I thought... well, you know how they say, if you have a plan, that's when you should start to worry? I had one of those. I think I had four or five, actually."

Dave looked down, focusing on their joined hands, and Kurt hastily let them go, resting his palms on his knees. He could feel a mild tingling, all up and down his arms. This wasn't going the way he'd expected.

"I'm just glad you're still here," he ended weakly.

"Me, too," Dave said, his voice soft.

Kurt focused on the opposite wall - anything to take away some of the tension in his body. It was impossible to imagine spending the entire night in a room with Dave when he felt like  _this,_  but neither could he conceive of a way to take back the invitation. "I - think we should get ready for bed, if we're going to be at all functional tomorrow morning."

"Okay." He pushed himself off the bed. "Please tell me you have an extra toothbrush I can borrow."

Kurt nodded, and slipped into the bathroom, rooting around under the sink for all the freebies they collected from the dentist's office. He pulled out a plain blue one and took it back into his room for Dave. "For some reason, there's a sparkly Disney Princess one in my drawer, but I  _swear_  I didn't pick it out."

Dave snorted, taking the toothbrush, and the unexpected lightness of his tone made Kurt laugh.

"You sure you're not hiding a little sister around here somewhere?" Dave teased.

"Shut your mouth. Don't even  _mention_  something like that. I don't want my dad and Carole to get any ideas." He propped himself on the doorway, not exactly watching Dave brush his teeth, but staying close enough that they could continue talking over the susurration of the water.

"My mom's got two girls," said Dave, after he was done, "but I never see them. I'm not sure if it's because my mom hates my dad so much, or because her husband's a homophobic asshole. Probably some of both."

"I's thorry," Kurt mumbled around his toothbrush, being careful not to spit toothpaste bubbles at Dave, who smothered a grin.

"It's okay. I barely knew my mom before they got divorced. She's more like an obnoxious aunt I have to send thank-you cards to at birthdays."

Kurt spit out his toothpaste and rinsed before standing back up and looking at Dave. "How old were you?"

"Six. She left the summer between kindergarten and first grade."

Kurt wasn't sure how to ask about pajamas, but Dave made it easy by already being in bed by the time he came out of the bathroom. He shifted uneasily as Kurt approached the bed, touching his pillow. "I... guessed which side you sleep on, based on where you usually sit."

Kurt slid carefully into bed next to Dave. "I usually sprawl, actually, but I'll do my best to keep from kicking you." He pulled the blankets up over his chest and very consciously hugged the edge of his side of the bed. "Good night, David," he said softly and turned off his bedside light.

"Good night, Kurt."

He fell asleep next to Dave, and he woke up in the morning, still next to Dave.

A few times over the past year, Kurt had fallen asleep next to Finn while they were talking, on the couch or on his bed. But waking up beside a sleeping Finn was a completely different experience than waking up with Dave. It wasn't like the times Kurt had fallen asleep in Blaine's arms, either. Blaine was completely guileless in sleep, like an angel. Finn tended to wake himself up snoring. But Dave...

Kurt found himself studying Dave's face, watching the way his forehead furrowed. Even now, when a person was supposed to be the most relaxed, Kurt could tell Dave was still carrying a ton of himself around, hidden away where no one could see it.

 _I wonder what that Dave looks like,_  he thought, leaning in a little closer.  _I wonder what it would take to get him to come out._

It wasn't until Dave opened his eyes that Kurt admitted to himself what he was doing.

"Kurt," Dave whispered. Kurt felt the puff of air on his lips from the  _K._

"David," he whispered back, "just - let me -"

"No." Dave didn't move, but his word stopped Kurt where he was, hovering over Dave's face. His voice was hoarse. "You can't."

"Please." He felt, as much as heard, Dave draw in a breath, as he shifted closer, leaning in against the warmth of Dave's side. "That kiss... it's in our way. I don't want - I  _can't let_  that be our only kiss."

"It won't be, Kurt, I promise. But this... it's the wrong place, the wrong time."

Kurt hesitated for several tense heartbeats, wishing he could see all the ramifications of a moment in which he ignored Dave and kissed him anyway. But  _not paying attention_  was what had gotten them into this place to begin with, and more of the same wasn't going to get them out. He backed off, regretfully watching Dave's face settle into its familiar guarded state as he sat up. Kurt sat up with him.

"How will we know?" Kurt asked.

"Know?"

"If it's the right place and the right time."

"I don't know." Dave looked so conflicted. Kurt could already feel the lingering guilt of what he'd almost done. "I think I'd better go."

"I'm sorry," said Kurt. Dave shook his head.

"No - no, Kurt, this was... it was really good. I just need a little time to think it all through. Thanks for letting me help you with the math. I hope you pass your AP exam."

He watched, with mild panic, as Dave ran a hand through his hair and pulled on his jeans. "But I'll see you next week, for group, right?"

"Sure. We'll talk about it." He shot Kurt a little smile. "Well... have a good day."

"Dave," Kurt called after him, but he was already gone.

* * *

Kurt told Blaine about the almost-kiss over coffee the next day. He was a little nervous about bringing it up, but they'd had conversations about extra-relationship kissing before. Blaine had never really thought it was a big deal, but he could understand why Kurt thought it was.

He picked at the cardboard sleeve around his cup. "So," he began, butterflies doing a rhumba in his stomach. "Dave came over, the other night. He helped me with my calculus, and we talked about a bunch of stuff."

"Was he upset that you missed PFLAG this week?"

"No. He understood. I was the one who missed seeing  _him_." Kurt wanted to take the words back, but he couldn't. He watched Blaine's face go completely impassive.

"I don't pretend to understand what's going on with you guys," Blaine said. He twisted the napkin in his hands. "Did you-" Blaine paused for a moment, and Kurt could almost feel him struggling to form words in his head. "Did you miss him like a friend, or like you would miss me?"

Kurt sighed impatiently. "How I missed him isn't the important part. The important part is that I almost kissed him."

"Oh." Blaine dropped his napkin onto the table. "Almost?"

"He told me it wasn't the right time or the right place."

He frowned. "But you thought it  _was?"_

"I don't  _know_ ," Kurt almost-whined. "He stayed the night because it was so late, and when I woke up I just  _watched_  him, and he was so tense, I wondered if anyone at all ever got to see him, just him. I don't know that I  _was_  thinking, honestly."

"He - stayed the night?" Blaine echoed.

"Yeah." Kurt didn't elaborate. He felt oddly protective of Dave, and didn't want Blaine involved in Dave's business too much.

Blaine chewed the edge of his lip, still frowning. He didn't seem upset, more like he was concentrating hard and didn't want to be interrupted. Kurt tried to stay quiet while Blaine thought.

"And nothing else happened?"

"No. He left. I haven't talked to him since then." Kurt was pretty sure he'd screwed things up for good with Dave, but he wasn't about to push him to deal with it before he was ready.

"Okay." Blaine took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and touched Kurt's hand. "Thank you for telling me."

There were lots of times Kurt wished he could read Blaine's mind, but never as much as he wished it in that moment. "You're not angry."

"No," Blaine said thoughtfully. "I'm not exactly sure what I am, but I know I'm not angry." He hooked his fingertips under Kurt's, giving them a brisk tug. "We should figure out details for prom. It's coming up more quickly than I expected."

"Are you sure you want to go, after what happened last year?"

Blaine tipped his head and stared at Kurt with a fond expression on his face. "Shouldn't  _I_  be asking  _you_  that? It's your senior prom, after all. I still get another chance at getting it right next year."

Kurt sighed. "I think I've given up getting it right. I should remember this is just high school, and that I'm never going to be able to count on this school or this town being supportive of me or my relationship." He gave Blaine a half-smile. "But I still really want to go to my senior prom."

"Okay." Blaine nodded with determination. "Then we should go and have an amazing time. What do you have planned to wear? I mean, your kilt last year was a thing of beauty, but you should try to outdo yourself."

They passed the rest of the afternoon talking about tuxes and whether they should coordinate their accessories not. By the time Kurt got home, he was feeling a lot less anxious.

At least, he felt that way until he crawled into bed. It was faint, but it was still there, the smell of Dave's aftershave on Kurt's pillows.

* * *

Kurt knew something was up when Finn suggested they go pick out corsages together. "Or, you know, whatever you call them for guys," he clarified. "Those things you wear in your buttonholes. You know."

"Boutonnieres, Finn," Kurt sighed. "Blaine and I are both wearing slim-fitting tuxes, so we agreed on small flowers."

"Yeah, great. Just... I need help with mine?" Finn gave him a pleading look. "Rachel's going to know I didn't do it on my own, but I'd rather get it right, at least."

"It'll be fine," Kurt said, patting Finn on his forearm. "I know just what to get for Rachel. Apparently the girls liked having a fairy gayfather go dress shopping with them last year, so I let them bribe me to do it again."

Finn shuddered as he opened the passenger door to the Navigator and climbed in. "I really hope you got the better end of that deal, bro. Because you couldn't pay me enough to go shopping with all of them."

Kurt figured if he waited long enough, Finn would eventually tell him everything about what was really going on, but Finn was oddly quiet on the drive over to Kurt's favorite florist.

"Do you ever feel like maybe the choices you're making are too easy?" Finn said at last.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Like, being with Blaine, or going to college, or what? I guess sometimes it's easy to just go along with choices because that's what we're expected to do."

"Yeah, I guess that's what I mean. If I do the easy thing, and I'm good at it, and it all works, I can feel good about that, but..." He shrugged, staring at his hands. "Kind of doesn't mean much, in the end, if I didn't have to work very hard at it."

"I think it's more important that you're happy, not how you get your happiness. If the easy choices honestly get you there, then what does it matter?"

"Because all the things I never fought for are still out there, waiting for me." Finn's lips tightened into an expression far too bitter for prom night. "I feel like I let them down."

"We're only eighteen, Finn. It's not too late to make different choices."

Finn let his head fall back against the headrest of his seat. "If there was a possibility that you could have what you have with Blaine with someone else, someone who matters to you in a different way than Blaine does, would you take it?"

Kurt blinked at Finn and tried to tie all the threads of his questions together. "Are you asking whether I would cheat on Blaine? Or leave him for someone else?"

"No, no. Not like that. Just." Finn blew a breath hard into the air. "Do you think Blaine's  _the one_  for you?"

Kurt thought about all the ways he and Blaine complimented each other, all the ways they were supposed to fit together, and did. And he thought about Dave, all the ways they got along that were so different from what Kurt shared with anyone else. "I love Blaine," he said finally, even though it didn't even come close to answering Finn's question.

"Jeez, Kurt, I'm not a complete idiot, I know you love Blaine. But how can you be so sure that you guys are meant to be together? What if there was someone else you loved?"

"There is."  _Shit_. His hands flexed, gripping the steering wheel.  _No. No._ "No, no there isn't. That was - um. A mistake. I made a mistake, I don't love him. I  _can't_  love him."

"Dude. Chill." Finn regarded him with concern. "Whatever's going on, you don't have to do anything about it. You're going to be out of here in five weeks. I'm the one who's gonna be stuck here, dealing with - everything."

Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt and started to open his door. "Nothing says you have to stay in Lima. And what does  _everything_  even mean?"

"You know. You and Rachel, you're starting fresh, making new plans, a new life. What's going to be left for me here?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, man, this isn't what this night was supposed to be about. You're the one making all the big announcements. So who's this guy? Do I know him?"

Kurt knew a deflection when he heard one, and he made the reluctant decision to play along with Finn. Maybe if he shared his own secret, then Finn would feel like talking on the way home. "You could say that you know him. It's, um. Dave."

Finn stopped where he was in the parking lot and watched Kurt walk right by him. He did eventually catch back up, though, with a couple long strides. " _Dave?_  As in throw-you-into-the-locker, hate-kiss you Dave?"

"Shhhh," Kurt shushed him with a furtive glance around to make sure nobody could overhear them. " _Yes_ , okay? Yes.  _Dave_. I don't even think I can explain it, so don't ask me to. Just -  _please_  don't tell anyone, especially not  _him_. It's . . . it's nothing, it can't be anything. I just need to forget that I said anything at all, okay?"

"Sure. Of course. I won't tell anybody." He tugged a little on Kurt's elbow, enough to get him to stop and face him. "But you still love Blaine, right? I mean, you're not leading him on or anything?"

Kurt arranged his fingers into a half-forgotten Boy Scout salute. "On my honor, I promise that I'm not leading Blaine Anderson on; that I love him, and that I will dance with him at Senior Prom."

Finn broke into uncharacteristic giggles halfway into Kurt's ad-libbed promise. "Asshole," he gasped, finally, knocking Kurt with his shoulder. "And there's no way you were ever a Boy Scout."

"How wrong you are, brother mine. Three years. I have a sash full of badges to prove it. I was actually a very  _good_  Scout, until I got a little too gay. Now c'mon, let's go take care of these flowers or Rachel will have  _both_  our heads."

Kurt had assumed Finn was up to something, but he didn't really think much more about it until they were paying for the boutonnieres and the man at the counter smiled at him. "Have a good prom with Blaine, Kurt," he said softly. "I wish I'd had a boyfriend like that in high school."

"Um - thank you?" Kurt glanced quizzically at Finn, who was being completely unconvincingly oblivious. "How did he know I was going to prom with Blaine? I didn't think he even knew who I was."

"Whatever." Finn shuffled his feet, appearing a little desperate. "Can we go home now? I have no idea what to do with this flower thing."

" _Boutonniere."_

"Booty-whatever. And I still can't tie my own tie. You have to  _help_  me."

After the fiasco of last year, Kurt had decided to go with a classic tux with tails, but he couldn't help adding his own personal touch. The lining of the jacket, which matched the tie, was subtly spangled with material that fluoresced under black light. At first Kurt thought it might be  _too_  subtle, but when he saw himself in the mirror, he decided he was pleased with the result.

Blaine was waiting in the living room, hovering by the fireplace, when Kurt came down the stairs.

"Finn already left to pick Rachel up," Blaine said, shifting from foot to foot and wiping his palms on the legs of his tux.

"You okay?" Kurt asked, eyeing Blaine carefully. "This isn't going to be like last year. You don't have to worry about that."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm not- it's not-" he blew out a frustrated puff of air. "I'm not worried about that." He breathed deeply in and out and then held out his hand. "You look  _amazing_ , Kurt. Our chariot awaits."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Your Subaru or my Nav?"

Blaine clucked his tongue. "Neither. C'mon, we're going to be late to pick up Rachel and Finn, and I really don't want the wrath of Rachel ruining our prom night."

Kurt followed Blaine to the door, but stopped abruptly when he saw the sleek black limo idling at the curb.

"You didn't," he said softly. "Blaine. You didn't have to-"

"I know I didn't  _have_  to, I  _wanted_  to." He hugged him, then kissed him gently before nudging him toward the car. "I want this to be the prom of your dreams, Kurt. The prom you  _deserve_."

* * *

Blaine wasn't kidding. Kurt stared at the gymnasium, transformed by crepe paper and balloons into something close to festive. Everywhere he looked, he saw touching little nods to LBG inclusiveness, some subtle and some not-so. Tina and Mike met him by the punch bowl, toting a basket of perky rainbow badges proclaiming  _Gay is Okay!_

"You really want me to put a hole in this fabric?" Kurt asked, smoothing a hand over his lapel, but he smiled and took one anyway. "This is so sweet. Who came up with this?"

"Who do you think?" Mike tipped his head to where Blaine was talking animatedly with Artie.

Kurt tapped his lips with one finger. "Huh. I never would have guessed it of Artie."

"Kurt," Mike said, laughing, but Kurt grinned at him, then made a beeline for Blaine.

He pressed the rainbow badge to Blaine's tuxedo jacket. "Just what is the meaning of this?" he snapped, watching Blaine's smile falter.

"I thought you'd - after what happened last year - I was just trying to do something nice, Kurt."

"Well... you did." He seized Blaine's shoulders with both hands and gave him an enormous kiss that lasted long enough for Artie to let out an approving wolf-whistle. Blaine blinked when Kurt let him go, a little flushed, but smiling again. "Thank you. And you're completely sneaky and I had no idea."

"I had a lot of help," Blaine admitted. "Sam's the one who thought of the same-sex-only dances - that'll be later. Some of the single guys came together, although I think most of them are only doing it because Sam made them. And Dave brought the kids from your P-FLAG group who couldn't take same-sex dates to their own proms."

"Dave?" Kurt echoed. He glanced around the room, finally settling his gaze on Dave, tucked into a corner sipping at punch and looking like he'd rather be someplace else. He shook his head, his smile widening. "I'll just reiterate that you're amazing."

The rest of prom went smoothly. Kurt wasn't at all surprised when Finn and Rachel were elected King and Queen. He was thankful he didn't have to crown Finn; he didn't even have to reach up on tiptoe to put Rachel's crown on her head. They looked perfectly content to be standing together, smiling broadly for the crowd. Kurt was almost convinced Finn was happy with the way things were going, but then he thought about Finn's earlier anxiety, and he wondered.

The lights dimmed, and Kurt watched from the edges of the crowd as Finn and Rachel began to dance. After a few bars of "We've Got Tonight," couples started drifting onto the floor, and Kurt wasn't surprised to feel Blaine's hand at the small of his back, nudging them forward into the crowd. It wasn't at all embarrassing. Kurt could barely remember the boy he'd been junior year, when he'd been forced into being in the spotlight.

"This is so much better than last year," Kurt whispered into Blaine's ear once they were swaying gently back and forth. "Thank you again."

"You're welcome, Kurt." He heard Blaine's soft sigh of contentment as he held him a little closer. "You really deserve to have that."

It was a mark of how safe and comfortable he was feeling that he didn't even flinch when a figure stepped in close, putting a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt looked up to see Dave standing there. His jaw was tense, but he didn't appear to be upset.

"Do you mind?" Dave nodded at Blaine.

"Not at all." Blaine stepped aside, gesturing for Dave to take his place. Kurt just stared at Dave, unable to make sense of the situation, but Blaine didn't even look surprised.

"I still owe you a dance," Dave said softly. "From last year."

"David. You don't have to." Kurt's heart was fluttering. He didn't want Dave to feel like he owed Kurt  _anything_. He'd thought they were past that in their friendship.

He watched Blaine give him a little wave, backing away. Then Blaine walked over to where Becky Jackson was standing alone and offered her his hand.

"I  _want_  to," Dave said. He put a careful hand on Kurt's hip and shifted both of them so that they were standing almost as close as Kurt and Blaine had been. Kurt's hand went automatically to rest on Dave's shoulder, the other on his waist, just as he'd taught Finn how to dance for their parents' wedding. "I'll include the caveat that I'm going to try not to step on your feet, but I can't promise anything."

"It's okay." Kurt ducked his head and smiled to himself. "As long as nobody ends up with a broken nose, we'll be fine."

"Okay." Dave took a deep breath and shuffled a little closer to Kurt as the music continued. They glanced over at Jamie and Hank from PFLAG, who smiled and gave them a quick thumbs up.

Dave's posture was tense, his arms stiff when they should have been loose. "Relax," Kurt said after a minute. "It can't be  _that_  different from dancing with a girl."

"God, Kurt," Dave muttered. "It's completely different. I mean... no, it's not, mechanically, but..." He gave him a reproachful look, stumbling a little, and tightened his grip on Kurt's hips. "I don't think I need to tell you how it's different."

"Puzzle pieces," Kurt mumbled.

Dave blushed. "That's a hell of a metaphor for a public place."

Kurt suspected his own blush was giving Dave's a run for its money. " _Not_  what I meant.  _Not at all_  what I meant. It just- when I tried . . . being straight. When I pretended to be straight and I kissed Britt, it was all wrong. But when Blaine and I kissed, it was like all the mismatched pieces of my puzzle were gone and everything just made sense, you know?"

"Yeah." Dave watched Kurt's face. From this close, their height difference was exaggerated; even though Kurt had grown a few inches since junior year, Dave had, too. "I do know. I tried that for so long, myself. Seems kind of impossible when I think about it now. How did I ever expect that would work?"

"You were scared. Please don't beat yourself up over it."

"I'm working on it," Dave said, with a self-deprecating little laugh.

It made Kurt want to grab him and hug him as tightly as he could, and tell him  _don't treat yourself that way,_ but he suspected that kind of behavior would just make Dave more self-conscious. Instead he swayed with the music, trying to breathe evenly. Then he grew worried that Dave would think he was sniffing his cologne, which he most definitely was  _not._  Even if it did smell good, and was maybe making him a little dizzy. He slid his hands over Dave's back, feeling Dave's sharp inhalation. "Um... Kurt?"

"Thank you for coming to my prom," Kurt murmured. He let himself relax a little more against Dave's broad chest. "Really, it made it better."

"Yeah?" Kurt could feel Dave brushing his face against his hair, almost as though he were kissing Kurt's head. It was far more intimate than Kurt knew what to do with, but here he was, dancing with David Karofsky at his senior prom, and he decided firmly that he wasn't going to freak out.  _Because this is good. It's so good._

"So good," he echoed his thoughts. Suddenly he stopped, and Dave stopped, and they stared at one another as though they both were realizing exactly what was going on. Kurt felt the hairs all along his scalp rising as one. He couldn't make a sound.

Then Dave took a stumbling step away from him, and then another, and with one apologetic grimace, he took off for the rear door of the gymnasium. The song was nearly over, and it didn't look as bad as it could have, but Kurt felt the loss in his arms, the cold emptiness of Dave's absence.  _More,_  his body keened, in a way he'd never quite felt before. He followed, almost without realizing he was doing it.

"Kurt?" he heard someone call, but he wasn't sure who'd said it, and he just choked out, "Be right back -" as he fell against the push bar on the door, nudging through it, and found himself in an empty starlit field behind the school.

"Dave?" he called, his voice hushed in the darkness.

He heard Dave's breathing, and followed it to where Dave was propped against the brick wall of the building, arms folded around him in protection. Kurt was a little shocked Dave wasn't commenting on how loud Kurt's heartbeat was; it sounded like a kettle drum to his own ears.

"Looks like I haven't done a very good job of changing my behavior," Dave said bitterly. Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, letting it rest there.

"I'm okay with that," he said, "considering I like you pretty well the way you are."

Dave's expression remained somewhat doubtful, but he gave Kurt a short nod and stood a little taller. "You mean I haven't ruined  _another_  prom for you?"

"You didn't ruin  _last_  year's prom. That was neither of our faults and you know it." Kurt took a breath, held it for a handful of seconds, and let it out. "And you certainly didn't ruin tonight. Dancing with you . . . that was . . ." Kurt trailed off. The only word he could think of was magic, but it felt so cliche and  _expected_. "It was really special," he finally managed to say.

Dave nodded, his eyes on the blacktop. "I've never- I mean, the locker room-" He waved his hand vaguely. "I wonder what it means that the only boy I've ever touched  _like that_  has been you."

Kurt swallowed his gasp. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he managed.

"You just don't get it," Dave snapped. His words were edged with frustration. "You  _have_ a boyfriend. You  _know_  who you are. You're Kurt fucking Hummel, and I'm big dumb Dave Karofsky, and maybe it doesn't mean anything to you. But Kurt?"

Kurt stared at Dave. His heart was beating triple-time, and everything between them felt new and still familiar at the same time. "What?"

"It means fucking  _everything_  to me. It always has." Dave blinked, and Kurt thought he saw tears catching the starlight in Dave's eyelashes.

"David-" Kurt started, but Dave was moving away from him toward the bleachers. His dress shoes slipped on the grass, still damp from the sprinklers, and he scrambled to catch up. "David. Please. Just  _wait_!"

Dave pulled up just short of the track, his back toward Kurt and his hands clenching and unclenching in time with Kurt's own heartbeat. "It's not fair of you to ask me that." Dave's voice was strangled. "I've been waiting for you for  _three fucking years_ , Kurt. Three  _years_ , and I'm never going to have you so don't think you can just tell me it's going to be okay and then walk away like I was just some poor sad closet case who used to have a crush on you."

Kurt caught up to him, his brain and his mouth tripping over each other to get words out. "Now  _you're_  the one who doesn't get it, David. We're not fifteen anymore. Hell, we're not even the same kids we were junior year. I think you're my best friend." He let out a small bitter laugh. "I've never had a best friend. But it's so much more than that." He wanted to reach out and grab Dave's hand, but he was oddly self-conscious about his sweaty palms, so he just inched closer and nudged Dave carefully with his arm. "I love you."

Dave looked almost disgusted. "You  _love_  me?" he scoffed. "You don't have any fucking idea what you're talking about. How desperate do you think I am?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I. Love. You." He stepped in front of Dave and shuffled closer to that they were standing toe to toe. "Hey." He pressed a hand to the back of Dave's neck. "Look at me."

Dave shifted his gaze from where he'd been staring fixedly at the uprights in the endzone. Kurt could see defensiveness and fear there, and long-suppressed pain. He felt suddenly very calm.

"We've been avoiding this all spring," said Kurt. "I wasn't ready to deal with it either. But it's not going away." His free hand brushed against the collar of Dave's shirt, landing flat on his lapel. "I haven't been able to think about anything else since that night you stayed over."

"Kurt," Dave whispered. He was practically vibrating with the effort to remain still. Kurt's hand curled into a fist, grasping Dave's tuxedo jacket, and hauled him forward. Dave must have been off-balance, because he nearly fell right onto Kurt, making a surprised grunt.

"Right now," Kurt said, breathless with adrenaline. Dave's brow furrowed.

"Right now?"

"It's  _time,_  dammit," he said, moving further into Dave's space. He pressed the length of his body against Dave and the momentum forced them back a couple of steps. "It's fucking  _time_."

Kurt grabbed Dave's face in his hands and surged up to kiss him. He felt Dave's shock and fear in the way he resisted the kiss, but Kurt wasn't about to stop, at least not until some of Dave's brick walls cracked a little bit.

"Don't," he said. He held on with both hands, determined to make Dave feel it. He could see the whites of Dave's eyes. "Don't run away this time. Please."

Dave let out his breath slowly, and even as it was clear he was wrestling with more than he could name, he nodded. This time when Kurt kissed him, all the resistance was gone. Dave was moving too, his hands on Kurt's shoulders, his waist, snaking under his jacket and finally settling, warm and secure, at the small of his back.

"Kurt," Dave said again, but now the word wasn't a protestation.

"It's okay to want this," Kurt said, low, into Dave's ear, and felt Dave shudder. "You don't have to be ashamed. It's okay to want."

"God, Kurt," he groaned. His hands tightened on Kurt's ass, pulling him in closer. "I want you so much, I can't even tell you. There's nobody like you. Nobody."

Kurt could feel exactly how much Dave wanted him, but he wasn't going to risk making him self-conscious by bringing it up. He touched his face, kissing him again, gently, then more hungrily, and thrilled to the sounds Dave was making. He could feel Dave's hands fumbling at his shirt, and they both startled when Dave managed to undo a single button. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Dave to slide his hand under the cloth and brush Kurt's stomach.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Dave whispered, and shivered a little bit. "I want, but- but- I  _can't_."

It wasn't the same kind of shame that Kurt had heard in Dave's voice the previous spring on a night not too different from that one, but it was close enough that Dave's words made him take a step back. Dave turned away, rubbing a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck.

For the first time since he'd left the dance floor, Kurt thought of Blaine, and he flushed hot, his hand coming to rest on his own stomach where his shirt gaped open. His other hand fluttered over his lips, wet and swollen with Dave's kiss. Neither of them said anything for several long moments.

Then Dave opened his mouth, but Kurt stopped him with a glare. "Don't you  _dare_  say you're sorry."

The words died on Dave's lips and he just shook his head. "I can't do this."

Kurt nodded, trying not to feel hurt. "You don't have to explain."

"No, I have to. I don't want you to think - it's just that you deserve so much more than this." Dave gestured with his hands, indicating himself. "You deserve to be happy."

"What makes you think you don't make me happy?" Kurt tilted his head and peered at Dave in the darkness.

"All I ever do is hurt you, and abandon you, and make you worry. I'm no good for you, Kurt. I don't even know how good I am for  _myself_ , most days."

"David," Kurt sighed. He crossed the space Dave had made between them and took his hand. "You're  _so_  good. I know you don't see it, but you  _are_."

Dave shook his head, swallowing, but he didn't pull away. "You don't understand."

"Then help me. Help me understand."

Before Dave could reply, they heard the rusty hinges of the gymnasium door, and a familiar voice calling, "Kurt?"

"Finn," Kurt sighed. He called back, "Be there in a minute."

"It's the last dance, man," Finn said, approaching them, but he stopped when he saw who was standing there. Kurt watched his eyes flicker back and forth between him and Dave. "Oh. Uh -"

"I'll be there  _in a minute,"_ Kurt said again, more forcefully, and Finn turned around and made a hasty retreat.

Dave had backed up when Finn had approached, and the space between he and Kurt felt physically  _and_  emotionally uncrossable. "Don't," he muttered, with a little shake of his head.

"David-" Kurt started, but Dave was walking backwards and Kurt couldn't make his own feet move.

"Have a good life, Kurt." The words were gentle, not cruel, but they cut Kurt anyway, and he sucked in a breath. Dave's eyes were pained, almost desperate. "I really,  _really_  want that for you."

It wasn't until the hum of the motor of Dave's car had merged imperceptibly with the sounds of the night that Kurt was able to walk the twenty feet to the bleachers and sink down onto the cool metal. He fixed his shirt and then sat staring at the football field. He felt sick and numb, and he knew he had no right to feel like his world had just ended, not when Blaine was waiting for him inside. He barely registered the squeaking of the gym doors again, or the sound of voices and music.

The bench squeaked, and then there was warmth next to him, and the familiar scent of Finn's aftershave.

"You okay, man?" Finn asked.

"He left," Kurt said without elaboration.

Finn sighed. "I'm... guessing that means no." He slid an arm around Kurt's back and gave him a little squeeze.

"Aren't you going to tell me to stop thinking about what I don't have, and focus on what I do?"

"No," said Finn.

Kurt had nothing left to say. He'd given Dave all of his words. Instead, he rested his head against Finn's shoulder and ignored the tears running down his cheeks.

* * *

Kurt slept late the morning after prom, and woke groggy and irritable. He was wrung out from rehashing the details of the night with Blaine. Blaine had mostly listened, patient and calm and objective, until Kurt had asked him to leave so he could get some sleep, at which point he'd burst into tears and Kurt had spent the next hour reassuring him. Now it was morning, and he had a lot to think about - and he needed coffee to even begin to make sense of it all.

He dressed quickly, intent on getting to the Lima Bean before he had to try to be civil to anyone, and he almost missed the rectangle of paper sticking out from under his windshield wiper.

It proved to be an envelope, his name written on the front in Dave's block printing. He climbed into the driver's seat and popped the flap open. The letter was two pages, and Kurt was crying before he got through the first paragraph.

_Dear Kurt-_

_I know this is going to make you mad, but I need to say it anyway._

_I'm sorry._

_Maybe it's not worth much, but it's the truth. I'm sorry for hurting you, for taking advantage of you, for not being brave enough to stand up and dance with you last year._

_I feel like a coward for so many reasons, but mostly for not having the guts to tell you last night just how much you mean to me. You trusted me with your honesty. You said that you love me. I love you, too, but you have Blaine and I'm a freaking mess, and it's never going to work between us, not like you deserve. Because Kurt, you deserve everything, and I would give it to you, no questions asked._

_I wish I could completely believe you, that you love me. There's absolutely no reason you should feel that way, not after everything that's happened between us. I wish I could trust your faith in the power of love. I wish I could believe what Blaine told me, that he was okay with us kissing, but I don't understand how he_ _**could** _ _be. I wish a lot of things. I wish I could have everything_ _**I** _ _want._

_You don't even realize . . . you're all I've ever wanted, from the first day I saw you._

_You're going to New York, and I should be going there, too. I got into Columbia, but I turned them down. I can't be there, in that city, with_ _**you** _ _. Not when Blaine is going to be in Lima for another year._

_I can't face the possibility of being so close to you and having to stay so far away._

_So I'm going away, I don't know where yet. Wherever I get the urge to go, I guess. I'm leaving for London today, and I'll figure the rest out as I go._

_Please don't call. Please just try to forget, and maybe someday we can be friends again._

_-Dave_

He let the letter fall to his lap and just sat there for several long minutes, unable to think about what Dave had said, just feeling so goddamned lost and impossibly angry at Dave for giving him this and then walking away. Eventually, though, the ideas began to filter out, and Kurt focused on one particular line:  _I wish I could believe what Blaine told me, that he was okay with us kissing, but I don't understand how he_ _ **could**_ _be._

"Blaine," he bit out, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He didn't feel like talking, so he tapped out a text to Blaine.  _Lima Bean in an hour? We should talk._

Blaine's reply was instantaneous; it made Kurt wonder if Blaine had been just sitting up and staring at his phone for hours.  _Yes. Please._

Kurt knew he needed to get moving, then; needed to go back inside and start his day properly, but his Nav felt like a refuge so he sat for a handful of moments just staring at Dave's letter, wondering where things had gotten so terribly twisted up between them.

Who was he kidding. Things had  _always_  been twisted up between them.

He took a few deep and slightly shuddery breaths, folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket with his phone, and got out of the car.

An hour gave Kurt time enough to take a shower and clean himself up, but he didn't feel any clearer inside when he saw Blaine sitting at their usual table at the Lima Bean, Kurt's steaming glass of mocha waiting for him.

He paused beside the table, close enough to take Blaine's hand, though he did not. "You and I talked for over two hours after prom, Blaine," he said tightly, "and you didn't think to  _mention_  to me that you and Dave had  _discussed_  this?"

"It was for you, Kurt." Blaine looked wounded. "I know you care about him, don't deny it. How could you walk away from high school and leave things the way they were, with nothing but that awful memory in the locker room?"

"It was  _my memory,_  Blaine," said Kurt. "Mine, and David's. You had no right to interfere with that."

"You sounded so sad, after that night that he stayed over. I just wanted to make it okay for you guys to, you know, figure things out." Blaine shrugged and fixed Kurt with one of his disarming grins. "It was a kiss. It's not that big a deal."

Kurt sighed. God, he was  _so_  tired. "Maybe it's  _not_  a big deal for you, but you can never know everything about other people. You have no  _idea_  what it meant to me, or to David."

"I just thought-" Blaine began, but Kurt's hurt and anger was starting to grow sharp.

"No," Kurt insisted. "No. That's the whole problem, you  _didn't_  think. You didn't think about what it would feel like for David to kiss another guy's boyfriend, or how it would feel for me to wonder whether my kissing him would hurt you. And you certainly didn't think about what it would feel like for him to  _leave_  me." Kurt slammed the folded square of Dave's letter on the table. "He's leaving, and I'll probably never see him again."

Blaine's eyes were wide and sad. "You can't blame this all on me, Kurt. You made the choice, out there behind the school. I wasn't going to stop you, but -  _you_  kissed him. Tell me you didn't want that."

"I  _did_  want that, but I wanted it for me and David, not for  _you_." Kurt shook his head and lowered his voice. "So many people have their hands all  _over_  pieces of my relationship with him. Didn't we deserve to have at least  _one_  thing that was just ours?"

Blaine leaned away, crossing his legs and settling his hands on top of the table with an unhappy shake of his head. "God, Kurt. I never expected you to be so selfish about this. All I want is for you to be happy."

Kurt thought about Blaine's words for a minute as he settled into the chair across from him. "What if I wasn't happy?" he asked carefully.

Blaine frowned and stared at his hands. "With me?" His voice was soft and a little sad, and Kurt watched almost every ounce of confidence ooze out of Blaine with every breath. "Are you unhappy?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted finally. "All I know is that I feel like there's maybe a lot we still don't know and understand about each other."

Blaine's fingers knotted more tightly. "Are you saying you don't want to try anymore? Because I don't want to give up on us. You mean the world to me, Kurt, you know you do."

"I know." Kurt toyed with the edges of an empty sugar packet. "And you mean the world to me, too, Blaine. You  _do_. But we're still so young; I have to wonder if it would be better for us to take a little break before we hurt each other so badly that we'd never be able to be recover."

"A break," said Blaine. He nodded slowly. "You're not - we're not breaking up. You just want some time apart, to see what life is like without one another?"

"Yes. I think it could be good for us. And maybe when we start up again, we'll be even stronger."

He watched Blaine's shoulders relax as he nodded again. "I think that's something I can believe in." He reached across the table and took Kurt's hand suddenly, grasping it tightly, his gaze imploring. "I really do believe in us."

"I know," Kurt reassured him, squeezing Blaine's hand. "I believe in us, too."

Kurt knew he wasn't saying it just to appease him. He really  _did_. But the lightness and relief he felt as he walked back to his car felt significant, too. Whatever he and Blaine were, whatever they were going to become, they needed this time apart to make it matter.


	2. 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to penthea for help with the postcard text.

**2014**

Kurt was changing after dance class when his phone buzzed on the floor of his locker. He ignored it in favor of buttoning his jeans and slipping his shirt over his head. It rattled again, and Keith smiled at him from the next locker. "Someone wants you."

Kurt snorted. "The only someone who could possibly want me is in Abnormal Psych with a professor who will confiscate any cell phones he finds being used in class."

Unless. Kurt's heart beat a little faster remembering that day when Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury pulled him out of class to tell him about his dad. He grabbed his phone and swiped at it, muttering  _please not Dad_  under his breath like a prayer. He didn't recognize the number, but he clicked on the first text anyway and almost dropped his phone.

_It's Dave. I'm in the city. Can we meet?_

Keith nudged his hand, and Kurt realized he was still standing there with his sock in one hand and his shirt on the bench beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied. "Yeah. Just-" he waved his phone vaguely. "Just an old friend I never expected to hear from again. He's in the city and wants to meet."

"An old boyfriend?" Keith teased, swinging his bag onto his shoulder.

Kurt just shook his head. "It's complicated," he said, and turned his attention back to his phone.

He slowly typed out a reply.  _Dave, I can't believe it. How long will you be in town?_

_I'm flying out this evening. I have about three hours before I should head to the airport. Can I not buy you some coffee?_

Kurt smiled.  _Of course. I just finished for the day. There's a Starbucks on the corner of 45th and 7th Ave, near Times Square. Meet you there in half an hour?_

_Three blocks from there. I hoped you'd say yes. Do you still drink mochas?_

Kurt finished dressing in record time, and tapped his reply as he raced out of the locker room, an unexpected lightness in his step and a little flutter in his stomach.  _On my way._

* * *

Kurt almost didn't recognize Dave, sitting at a corner table with two steaming cups and a plate with a piece of coffee cake and a brownie on it. He was looking for the boy he'd last seen on prom night, scared and upset and not so confident. The Dave in Starbucks was tanned and had a good haircut and looked at ease in himself in a way that both startled Kurt and made him happy.

"Wherever you've been, it suits you," he said without preamble as he slid into the chair across from Dave.

Kurt watched Dave take him in, heard his low whistle. "You, too. Damn, Kurt. How is it possible that you grew up even  _more_?"

Kurt found himself flushing, which was kind of silly, considering he spent the day being looked at by all kinds of people who judged him based on his appearance. "I keep getting taller, for some reason. My dad has no idea where those genes came from. Possibly the mailman, we can't be sure."

Dave laughed and shook his head. "God, I've missed you, Kurt." He toyed with a wooden stir stick and lowered his eyes. "But I'll understand if you didn't miss me. I shouldn't have just disappeared like that."

"You said you were going to," Kurt pointed out. "I was prepared never to see you again."

"I was- I was pretty messed up back then." Dave shrugged. "Hell. I guess I'm still a little messed up, but I guess I finally stopped hating myself for it."

"When did that happen?" Kurt asked.

"Probably on an airplane between Dublin and Berlin, or maybe Amsterdam. I'm not sure. I just know that once I'd been gone for about six months, I started to feel different."

Kurt nodded, trying not to be too obvious about staring at Dave, but  _damn._  "You... look different."

"I'll always be glaringly American the minute I open my mouth, but sometimes it's still nice to blend in a little."

Kurt poked his fork into a corner of the brownie. "So you're still where? Europe?"

Dave nodded. "I went to London, first, and then Dublin and Berlin. Portugal. Lisbon is a really beautiful city, which I didn't expect. A couple different places in France."

"Paris?" Kurt asked, because he'd always wanted to go there. He nibbled a corner off his forkful of brownie.

"Nope. Normandy, most recently. I had a great-uncle who was part of the Allied Invasion. It was pretty intense, kind of like being at Arlington Cemetery or the battlefields at Antietam. I was just in Ohio for my dad's 50th birthday, but I'm headed back tonight."

"How was Lima?"

Dave rolled his eyes at Kurt, setting his coffee on the table. "I'm a world traveler and you want to hear about  _Lima_? Come on, Kurt, what the hell's with this small talk? I never thought we expected that from each other."

Kurt stared at Dave, his breath coming a little quicker than he'd have liked. "I don't know what we're doing here, David. I mean, I told a classmate that we were old friends, but it didn't feel that way two summers ago, and it doesn't feel that way now. What do you  _want_  from me?"

Dave planted his hands on the table and Kurt startled a little. "You know, I could have booked my flight through Boston or D.C. I didn't  _have_  to come to the city, but I  _wanted_ to. I wanted to see you because I miss you, even if I'm not supposed to."

The anger rose up inside him, unexpectedly intense. Kurt gave up trying to pretend he was okay. "Look, you  _left_  me, Dave. You didn't even give us a chance to figure things out, you were just  _gone_. And here you are, breezing back into my life like it hasn't been  _two fucking years_. I think about you all the time, wonder where you are and how you are. If we were just friends, I highly doubt you'd still affect me that much. What am I supposed to do in two and a half hours when you're on a damn plane again to god knows where?"

"Budapest," Dave offered carefully. "Budapest and Sarajevo and Prague, and then maybe Bucharest. I promised my dad I'd come home for Christmas this year, though."

"Now who's making small talk?" Kurt mumbled. He crammed the last of the brownie into his mouth and chewed angrily.

"I just didn't want God to be the only one who knew where I'd be."

Kurt smiled in spite of himself. "You still know how to make me laugh," he said around his mouthful of brownie. Dave's eyes twinkled.

"You're making it really hard for me not to flirt shamelessly with you."

"I would flirt back," Kurt admitted.

"And Blaine? What would he say about that?"

He sat back, avoiding Dave's eyes. "Blaine and I have an . . . arrangement - don't give me that look. We broke up after I graduated, and it took a while for us to both decide we were ready to try again, even after he moved to the city. By then he'd already found a place in the New York scene, which, let me tell you, is all about hooking up. So he still does that, sometimes."

"And you?" Dave finished off the last of his coffee and pushed his empty cup into the middle of the table. "Are you . . . in the scene?"

Kurt bit his lip, but lost the battle to not laugh. "No.  _No."_  He shook his head. "That's... really not my thing."

"But there is someone, isn't there? Because I  _know_  you, Kurt. You wouldn't let Blaine do that if you weren't at least  _interested_  in someone else."

"Someone else," Kurt agreed. "That's actually a pretty dumb question, Dave. You should know the answer to that."

Dave looked genuinely puzzled. "I don't-  _oh_.  _Oh!_  Me?" he squeaked.

"A gold star for Mr. Karofsky. Yes, David. Maybe I'm crazy, but here I am, still waiting for you. I think . . .." he trailed off, feeling betrayed by his lack of anything resembling a brain-to-mouth filter when it came to Dave.

"What?"

"I think . . . I've always just been waiting for you to come back into my life so we could try to finish all the things we  _didn't_  get to on prom night."

Dave opened his mouth and left it open, his eyes darting back and forth between Kurt's hands, his face, the floor. "God," he said, shifting a little in his seat. "That's a hell of a thing to say to a guy before he gets on a plane and flies three thousand miles away."

"That's not what I meant," he protested. "I just mean... David, that spring, I feel like I got to have the best friend I'd always wanted. And then you left, and I - I missed you, so much."

Dave's eyes flashed with sadness and something a little dark. "I wasn't ready for you then, Kurt. I wanted to be. I knew how much you wanted it, but I couldn't give that to you. I honestly don't know if I can now either. I'm not a mess like I was then, but I also know that I wouldn't be going back to Europe if I wasn't still a little lost, you know?"

Kurt reached across the table and took Dave's hand in his own. "It's okay. God, I really wasn't going to tell you any of that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I think we needed to put all the cards on the table. We never did, back then." He squeezed Kurt's hand, and it felt familiar and foreign at the same time. "I didn't ever have a best friend either, you know. You kind of gave me permission to say  _anything._  Even if I couldn't do that then doesn't mean I don't want to."

"Just don't be a stranger on this trip, please?" Kurt knew he didn't have the right to ask anything of Dave, but that seemed the least benign request. "And be safe?"

Dave nodded over the detritus of their snacking. "I'll do my best. Will I see you in Lima at Christmas?" He stood and started clearing away the cups and napkins.

"I don't know," Kurt said honestly. "It's a little early to be making those plans. I feel like school just got back after winter break and it's already March."

Dave nodded, stuffing all the trash into the garbage can. With nothing in his hands, he looked a little lost. "I guess we'll just have to see, then."

Kurt took a step forward, hesitating. "I don't want to go another two years without hearing from you again."

"I'll stay in touch, I promise." Dave stretched his arms out, beckoning Kurt toward him. Kurt went, and was wrapped in the warmth and strength of Dave's hug. "Thank you for this," Dave said into his ear.

"You're welcome," Kurt breathed. He was shocked with how familiar Dave's embrace and scent still were, and when he turned his head, he brushed his lips against Dave's neck almost automatically, and felt Dave's startled gasp.

" _Jesus_ , Kurt," Dave sighed, and Kurt took advantage of Dave's distraction to press their lips together.

It wasn't anything like the fumbling attempts they'd made two years ago. Dave's hands tightened on Kurt's shoulders, and Kurt snaked his arms around Dave's waist. He heard Dave's groan as he deepened the kiss, and shivered.

"This... wasn't what I meant to do," he said, nuzzling Kurt's neck just below his ear. "Honestly."

"It's okay," Kurt said, stepping back an inch and smoothing his hands over the fabric of Dave's green t-shirt. "Really."

Dave closed his eyes, visibly pulling himself together, and took a deep breath, letting it out as he stepped away. "I need to go. I don't want to miss my flight."

"Right." Kurt nodded and watched as Dave shouldered a travel-worn backpack and slid out the handle on a tiny rolling suitcase. "You're traveling light. I never learned to do that."

Dave shrugged. "I have plenty of emotional baggage. I like to keep the physical stuff light to compensate." He waved once, smiled, and walked out the door without looking back.

Kurt decided watching him get in the cab and drive away would be needless torture, so he stayed at the table, knotting his hands and trying to decide what to do next.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him out of his musings. It was from Blaine.  _Chinese or Indian for dinner?_

He was feeling worked up from kissing Dave. Kurt was hungry, for sure - only not for food.

_Forget dinner. I want you. Race you home._

The shower was running when Kurt let himself into the apartment. He dropped his bag and shed his clothes, leaving a trail behind him on his way to the bathroom. When he pulled aside the curtain, Blaine startled, but Kurt didn't give him a chance to react. He leaned in over the edge of the tub and grasped his face with both hands, kissing him hard. Blaine made encouraging noises, and when they paused for air, he was smiling.

"Inspirational day?"

"Uh huh," Kurt murmured and climbed carefully into the tub, kissing Blaine again. He groaned in pleasure when the hot water hit his back; dance class always left him a little sore. Blaine kneaded the muscles along his neck and shoulders, making him droop and sigh against Blaine's chest. "That feels so good."

"It's supposed to," Blaine said into the side of Kurt's neck. His arms wrapped around Kurt's waist and Kurt felt Blaine's hand wandering down to reach for his cock.

"Uh-uh," Kurt scolded, slapping Blaine's hand away playfully. "I have other plans."

Blaine chuckled, relaxing. "I won't stand in their way."

"Good," Kurt said with a little grin. He pushed Blaine to the far end of the tub, out of the way of the spray. "Against the wall," he ordered, nudging Blaine's hips with the heels of his hands, and Blaine went willingly. Kurt sunk to his knees and didn't even pause before he wrapped his mouth around Blaine's cock and swallowed him down.

"Yeah," murmured Blaine, running his hands through Kurt's hair, "you know  _just_  what I like."

It wasn't Blaine Kurt was thinking about, though. He had to admit that to himself, even as he fisted Blaine roughly with one hand and worked his cock with his lips and tongue. He wanted to make Blaine cry out - but in his mind, it was someone else's voice he was listening for, another man who was submitting to his mouth, and he was pretty sure that eventually Blaine would realize it too.

He knew exactly what to do to make Blaine come; there was a kind of security in the familiarity of it, the sounds Blaine made and the movement of his hips, the pinpricks of pressure where his hands twisted and gripped in Kurt's wet hair.

"Oh, god, Kurt!" Blaine cried out again, and Kurt kept working at Blaine's cock until Blaine was pulsing on his tongue, coming down Kurt's throat. He left Blaine to recover under the spray while he climbed out of the tub, conscious of his own arousal, but he waited for Blaine to step out and dry himself off before he took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

"You really do have plans, don't you?" Blaine sounded far too thoughtful not to understand what was going on, but Kurt wasn't ready to talk about it yet. With a little pressure on Blaine's shoulder and hip, he turned him around and nudged Blaine gently onto the bed, onto his hands and knees. It was a deviation from their usual script, but Blaine didn't seem to mind. The condoms and lube were within easy reach, and Blaine was relaxed and loose from their round in the shower. It was all so comfortable and familiar - except that it wasn't.

Kurt had always liked the way Blaine felt under him, always liked the way he could cover Blaine's body with his own. But he was craving something else,  _someone_  else. He was craving  _Dave's_  body, wondering what it would feel like to not quite be able to blanket Dave. He held Blaine's hips hard and wondered if Dave would bruise, if Kurt held him the same way. He listened to Blaine's grunts and moans as he thrust into him again and again and wondered what Dave would sound like. Would Dave chase after his own release, moving with Kurt, or would he just take it like Blaine did? The thought sent sharp want rolling down Kurt's spine and he climaxed suddenly, unexpectedly, harder than he'd come in a long time.

They lay entwined amid the tangled duvet, sweaty and spent, Blaine's hand covering his where he rested it on Blaine's chest.

"That was hot," he said, turning to look at Kurt over his shoulder. "And I'm never going to complain when you want to fuck me senseless, but... there was someone else in bed with us, wasn't there?"

Kurt didn't know what to say. He hated to lie to Blaine, but he also didn't want to hurt him. He stayed silent. Blaine sighed, petting his hand comfortingly.

"It's Adam, isn't it? The two of you have been dancing around each other for months, and I know you've made out with him on nights when I was busy -"

"It's not Adam," Kurt whispered.

"That guy in your set design class, then. The one with the eyebrow ring?"

Kurt shook his head and took a deep breath. "David was in town this afternoon."

Blaine paused. "David... who?"

" _David_  David. Karofsky."

Blaine pulled out of his embrace, flipping over to stare directly at Kurt. "You're kidding me." He was smiling. "Dave  _Karofsky?_  I thought he moved away."

"He's been traveling, quite a lot from the sound of things. He was just passing through on his way back to Europe."

He nodded, chewing on his lip. "So did you guys... you know?"

"We had coffee, like we used to back when we were going down to PFLAG."

"And?" Blaine prompted. Kurt shook his head, but Blaine pushed a little. "Hey. If all you'd done was have coffee, you wouldn't have come home ready to go like that."

 _I wouldn't be so sure about that,_  Kurt thought grimly. Dave had always had the ability to get him worked up without any effort at all. He stretched out with a sigh. "Kissing. We kissed."

"I guess that means he's a good kisser, then." Blaine rested his head on his hand, and he looked at Kurt with so much affection. Kurt didn't quite understand how Blaine could be so relaxed about it.

"You're really okay with me doing that?"

Blaine laughed. "Yes, baby. I'm so okay with it. But if I remember correctly,  _Dave_  wasn't all that okay with you doing that, not while you were with me. I don't want to make a mess of things again." He reached for Kurt, hugging him tight. "This relationship, it's everything to me."

"To me, too. I, um. I explained a little about our . . . situation. I don't know how it would have been if he'd been here for longer, but it was only a couple of hours and a kiss."

"Mmmm." Blaine brushed sweaty hair away from Kurt's forehead, regarding him curiously. "But you wish it  _had_ been longer."

"I- I-" Kurt stammered. "I don't know. Maybe? But not because I wanted more physically. I just . . . I  _missed_  him, and it was nice getting to see my friend."

"You don't have to explain. I know he's important to you. That's all that matters."

Kurt stared at his own tightly interlocked fingers. "You won't mind if we keep in touch while he's away?"

"Kurt." Blaine reached out and took Kurt's hand in his. "It's really okay. I've always been able to see that being friends with Dave gives you something you need. We're going to be fine."

Kurt wished he could believe Blaine, but there was a tiny gnawing in part of his stomach that told him it  _wasn't_ fine, that he and Blaine  _weren't_  going to be okay. That Dave Karofsky was always going to be a  _thing_  between them, no matter how hard Blaine insisted he wasn't.

It ate at him, the whole time he was cleaning up and getting dressed again, and when Blaine leaned over to get his toothbrush from the counter in the bathroom, Kurt found himself clutching at him, grabbing for some sense of stability and predictability. Blaine hugged him back, and didn't ask for an explanation, and he had to be satisfied with that.

* * *

Postcards sent by Dave to Kurt over the next several months:

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Kurt didn't go home for Christmas. He'd initially wanted to, but his dad and Carole hadn't experienced a New York Christmas before, and Finn had a new girlfriend who was from Connecticut, so the entire family descended on Kurt and Blaine.

Christmas night, he and Blaine sat silent and turkey-stuffed, watching  _The Sound of Music_  on the Family Channel. "I'm really glad they all went back to the hotel," Kurt said, resting a hand on his stomach. "And I'm especially glad that we don't have to eat any more food."

"What? You're not enjoying the gluttony of the season?"

"You could stuff me in the oven and I'd be a  _second_  turkey dinner in a couple of hours."

Blaine snorted. "That's kind of a gross idea, actually."

They were interrupted by Kurt's phone buzzing across the coffee table. Blaine paused the movie because the dance in the garden was rapidly approaching and that had always been Kurt's favorite part. Kurt answered the call without really looking at the caller ID. "Are you lost again, Dad? The hotel is still  _east_  of Broadway, not west."

"You know," said Dave's voice, amused, "after spending hours poring over old city directories online, I feel like there's no way I could get lost in this place."

"You're  _here_?" Kurt's voice squeaked with surprise. "I thought you were in Lima for Christmas."

"Yeah, well. I ended up bailing on London sooner than I'd planned. I'm not used to being in one place for very long anymore and I think I made my dad a little crazy. He gave me a little job to do, so I came here to do it. I'm headed out again tomorrow, though."

Kurt was aware of Blaine watching him, but when he looked over at him, Blaine let his gaze grow vague and disinterested. "Do you - I mean, I don't suppose..." Kurt paused, uncertain of how to handle this, because while it seemed completely gauche to leave his boyfriend at home to meet another guy, he  _really_  didn't want to miss the opportunity to see Dave.

"Kurt," Blaine said quietly. "Just go meet him somewhere. I'll be here when you get back."

"Will you . . ."

Blaine's lip twitched. "Yes, I'll leave the movie paused. I won't let the garden dance go on without you."

Kurt lifted his fingers off the speaker on his phone. "Do you have time for a drink?"

"Yeah," Dave said. "That would be nice."

"If you don't mind people singing, there's a piano bar on Central and Dekalb. I'm leaving as soon as I roll myself off the couch, I'll meet you there in 15 minutes?"

He heard shuffling and Dave's voice was a little muffled as he gave the address to the cabbie. "Sounds good. Tell Blaine Merry Christmas for me, and thank him for sharing you with me tonight?"

"I will. See you in a bit," Kurt said. He thumbed at his phone to end the call and he thought he heard Dave's voice echoing  _walk safely,_ but he wasn't sure.

"You should wear your new sweater," Blaine called after him as he stumbled toward the bathroom. "It makes your shoulders look great."

Kurt splashed a little cold water on his face and raised his voice over the running water so Blaine could hear him. "It's a  _drink_ , not a booty call."

Blaine laughed. "What happened to  _every moment of your life is an opportunity for fashion?_  Anyway, you could wear a thrift store jogging suit and Dave would still look at you like you were a piece of coffee cake."

"Dave's seen me in pajamas. I don't need to dress up for him."  _I've_ _ **never**_ _needed to dress up for him_ , Kurt thought, tugging the new sweater over his head anyway. Maybe he didn't need it to impress Dave, but he sure as hell did need it to keep warm.

He found Dave at a table in one corner of the piano bar, far enough away from the stage to give them a little privacy and space to talk, but with an unimpeded view.

"I was going to buy you a drink," Dave said, standing to hug him, "but I realized I have no idea what you like."

"Jack and Coke," Kurt said, shrugging out of his coat and tucking his scarf and hat into his sleeve; he didn't need to lose another set.

"Coming right up."

Kurt watched him lean over the bar, ordering their drinks and laughing with the bartender, and decided Dave didn't look too bad in a sweater himself.

When Dave set Kurt's drink in front of him and settled back into his chair, Kurt found his voice. "What are you doing here? And why didn't you call me before tonight?"

"I'm sorry, but I've been immersed in family research. There's only so much you can learn on the Internet. The records on file at the county courthouse are fascinating - I spent three hours this morning reading passenger manifests for these ships..." He paused, watching Kurt's face, and gave a little embarrassed laugh. "I'm being a complete geek, aren't I."

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head slowly. "I just feel like I've been dropped into a story right in the middle and I'm missing something."

"My dad's always been into genealogy, but he was only able to trace back so far in Ohio. There were family rumors, of course, but we've never had anything more concrete than notations in my grandmother's Bible." Dave leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink, which looked milky and sweet. "But I compared what I knew with what I could find online, and filled in a lot of blanks in our family history that way. Since I've been here, I've been visiting cemeteries and I took the ferry out to Ellis Island on Monday. It was cold, but the museum is  _amazing_."

"Wait, wait - how long  _have_  you been here?" Kurt felt a pang of hurt, and immediately was guilty about it.  _As though David couldn't have his own life that doesn't have anything to do with me._

"Two weeks." Dave looked at the table, as if he knew somehow that Kurt felt stung. "It wasn't that I didn't want to see you, I was just . . .  _consumed_. This stuff, my family, it's like this puzzle. Everywhere I've been over the last two years has felt aimless. Now, for the first time, I feel like this is giving me direction."

"It's okay, David. Really." He reached out and took his hand, resting on the table. "It's wonderful to see you so passionate about something, even..."

"Even if I'm turning into an even bigger dork than the kid who forged your handwriting on your calculus homework?"

Kurt smiled, sipping his drink. "Um. Even if it's not me that you're being passionate about."

Dave flushed red in the dim light of the bar. "I'm sorry, about that. About interrupting your night with Blaine. I shouldn't- I don't- I really have no rights to you, Kurt."

"I don't  _belong_  to anyone," he said, feeling edgy.

"I didn't mean it that way. God, I always say the wrong thing. I just meant..." He sighed heavily and knocked back the remainder of his drink. "I meant that it's not fair of me to keep expecting you to drop everything to cater to my whims. You have a life here, Kurt. Whereas  _my_  entire life is in a backpack and the world's tiniest suitcase."

Kurt shook his head, laughing. He didn't let go of Dave's hand. "I know. I know all those things, and... and sometimes I still do think about dropping everything and following you, you know? I mean, it sounds amazing, what you're doing." He felt the intensity between them, heavy and tantalizing. "It would be so much more amazing to share it with you."

Dave swallowed visibly and pushed his glass to the middle of the table. "Shit, Kurt. That's a hell of a thing to spring on me."

Kurt leaned over the table, close enough that he could lower his voice and still be heard. "You're asking me to stop being honest with you? I thought that was the best part of this friendship."

"It is." Dave fiddled with the cuff of his sweater. "I just wasn't expecting . . .  _that_. Like I said, you have a life here, and I still don't have anything more to offer you than my kind of messed up self."

He laughed, hearing it come out a little hysterical. "David, you're no more messed up than me, or anyone else I know. We're just living our lives, making the best of whatever we've got. Don't tell me you'd rather not bother with... this... just because you're afraid of hurting me? Didn't we cover that ground years ago?"

Dave shrugged. "I never quite know what to think. Don't forget, I spend most of my time in hostels and on airplanes. I don't have a lot of people to talk to. Some days it feels like you're my only friend." He shook his head. "I can't risk losing that over something that never feels like it's going to work."

Kurt sighed. "I don't know either. I just think we're so much more likely to lose each other if we treat each other like strangers. Am I scared? Yes. Do I want to stop? No." He lifted Dave's hand, letting it drop back to the table with a smile. "Do you?"

Dave's fingers skated lightly over Kurt's. He met Kurt's eyes and held them, still and focused in his own gaze. "No."

Breathing felt impossible for a few seconds, and Kurt finally tore his eyes away with a shaky breath. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Dave took one more long drink from his glass and pushed the rest away, standing up quickly enough to jostle the table. "Fuck, yes."

Kurt followed Dave out of the bar, still struggling into his coat even as they tumbled out the door and onto the street. His boots skidded on a thin layer on snow that had accumulated on the sidewalk while they were inside. "Slow down. Do you even have a clue where you're going?"

"Nope," Dave replied, walking backwards. He put out a hand to steady Kurt as he slipped again. "But at least I'm dressed for the weather. This shit doesn't happen in Europe, you know, at least not on the continent. Honestly, I don't think this city's weather's got much going for it. Whatever made you think New York was the right place for you?"

"When we came with Glee Club for Nationals junior year, it was like a dream. I had never felt like I really belonged anywhere until I came here. I looked at all the people on the street and thought  _in two years I'll be here with you._  I don't know that there  _is_  another place for me, at least not right now."

Dave shook his head. "You have no idea, not until you go someplace else. There's so much, Kurt. So much to see, to understand. The world is a lot bigger than this self-centered country."

"Someday I want to see it all. But until I finish school,  _this_  is where I belong."

They walked in silence for a minute. Kurt took Dave's hand because he wanted to, and because he could feel Dave starting to retreat. "So... your family. What did you find out about them?"

"My great-great-grandparents came here in 1908. They were processed through Ellis Island; lots of Polish Jews were. I have copies of their original entry papers, and the 1915 New York state census, and because of that I have a jumping off point. I'm going to Warsaw first."

"What do you think you're going to find?"

Dave stopped walking. He brushed the snow off a bench and sat, patted the spot next to him for Kurt to sit too. When Kurt had settled, Dave wrapped an arm around him and held him close. Even through their layers of wool and cotton, Kurt could feel the heat of his body. "I'm not under any illusions. If my ancestors managed to survived the anti-Jewish violence of the 1900's, it's a good bet that they  _didn't_ survive the Holocaust."

"I'll guess none of your ancestors have survived this long anyway," Kurt said drily. Dave made a face at him. "It's true, isn't it? What  _are_  you looking for?"

"If I tell you I'm not exactly sure, you're going to think I'm crazy."

"It's not like you've known for the past two years, either."

"True." Dave rested his head on Kurt's shoulder. "I guess I'm just looking for connection, you know. It sounds stupid to admit that I just want to feel like I belong somewhere, or  _to_  someone or something. I've never had that, not even with PFLAG."

Dave's head felt unreasonably good, leaning gently against him that way. Kurt resisted the urge to pet him like a dog. "What do you mean? I never knew you didn't feel like you belonged at PFLAG. Anyway, I was the one who didn't belong."

"It's easy to pretend around people who don't know me. That's really all I've ever done my entire life, and I'm so  _tired_  of it."

Kurt nudged Dave with his forehead. "And you think that going to Poland is going to help?"

"Honestly?"

He inclined his head gravely. "Always."

"Probably not. But it probably can't hurt anything, either. And besides, my dad is really curious about what happened to the family that stayed behind." Dave put out an idle hand and ran it along Kurt's, tracing the edges of each finger. "There aren't too many things in this world that my dad and I both care about. This could be... it could help."

Kurt nodded. "I hope it does. For you  _and_  for the two of you. I really want you to be happy, David."

"I'm getting there. I think I am, anyway. I think I'm figuring out how to do that."

Kurt watched their hands touching, then turned toward Dave, close enough for Kurt to feel the warmth of his breath. He paused just a moment longer before leaning closer still, waiting for his unspoken consent.

"Is this something that would make you happy?" he murmured. "Or is it just too much? I don't want to push you."

"You've never pushed me, Kurt." Dave's voice was low, rough. "I can't promise you anything. I can't even promise that I won't freak out again."

"I think I can deal with that," Kurt agreed, and pressed forward to kiss him.

It hit Kurt the same way all their other kisses had, shoving him a little off-kilter and leaving him breathless and wanting more. But this time felt less desperate, more intentional. More  _real,_  like neither of them expected it to vanish any second. It was just Kurt, kissing Dave, letting him know just how much he meant to him.

Just because their kissing wasn't desperate didn't mean that it wasn't intense, though. Dave wasn't fighting anything, there on the bench in the cold. He was just kissing Kurt and letting Kurt kiss him, and if they'd been anywhere remotely private Kurt had no doubt that things would have progressed. As it was, Kurt felt lucky they weren't being scolded by anyone walking by.

Kurt let his hand, resting lightly on Dave's thigh, make one very gentle trip from hip to knee, echoing Dave's sigh before pulling away. "Maybe next time you're in the country, you won't wait two weeks to let me know?"

"I promise," Dave whispered, pressing his forehead to Kurt's. "And I'll let you know how things go, while I'm away."

He had to try once more, attempting to make the offer sound light, not - like it meant anything more than what it was. "Are you sure you don't want to come back to our place? It's Christmas."

Dave shook his head. "My flight is really early in the morning. Like, criminally early. And it- it would feel . . . awkward. Baby steps, Kurt. You know I need baby steps." He laughed lightly to himself. "Sometimes I feel like I've changed a lot, but I'm still easily spooked when it comes to any of . . . this." He waved his hand back and forth between them.

Kurt knew neither of them needed clarity for  _this_  to be meaningful. Part of him wished it didn't have to be so sporadic, but that would sound like whining if he said anything, and he didn't want to leave Dave on a sour note. He smiled, rising to his feet and helping Dave up. "At least let me walk you back to your hotel?"

It was long past eight by the time Kurt returned, stamping off snow and shivering, to their tiny apartment. Blaine was wrapped up in Kurt's mom's old quilt on the couch, his head lolling back onto the edge as he dozed, but his eyes opened and he smiled as Kurt approached.

"Bet you're looking for somebody to warm you up," he said, his voice a little crackly with sleep.

Kurt had a sudden vision of what it would be like to be in this apartment with Blaine in thirty years, or forty, or fifty, Blaine sitting on the couch just like that, with that same matter-of-fact love on his face as he gazed at Kurt. It made Kurt warm inside to imagine it. He kicked off his galoshes and struggled out of his wet coat before nestling under the blanket against Blaine. The sensation was familiar and comforting, and he tried not to cling to it too hard. "Yes, please."

Blaine opened up his blanket to welcome Kurt inside, wrapping it around his shoulder and tucking it under his feet, folded up against his chest. He kissed Kurt's neck above the collar of his shirt. "Hope you don't mind it's me and not him."

Kurt shook his head. "No. It was weird - not bad, just a little tense, and... I think Dave was ready for me to go and let him get on the plane." He felt himself deflate a little as he sighed, sounding more unhappy than he'd realized he was feeling. "He doesn't really want to be here, anyway."

"I don't think that has anything to do with you, Kurt."

They watched the garden dance scene, holding hands under the blanket, and Kurt was starting to doze off in the midst of the Von Trapp family's performance at the Salzburg Festival performance when his phone rang. Blaine dug into Kurt's pocket and retrieved it, placing it into Kurt's hands without looking at the screen, but he was pretty sure neither of them could imagine it would be anyone other than Dave, calling him.

"Hey," Kurt said, trying to decide if he should move out from under the blanket to someplace slightly more private, or if that would be even more awkward.

"I'm just waiting to board," said Dave, sounding a little irritated.

"Airport giving you a headache?"

"No." He heard Dave sigh over the murmur of voices and loud announcements. "I'm just down on myself. What else is new?"

"David-" Kut began, but Dave cut him off.

"Don't. Please, Kurt. Don't try to make me feel better. Just let me feel guilty, okay?"

Kurt twisted his face into a frown even though Dave couldn't see him. "What do you have to feel guilty about?"

"I keep running away on you. It's our thing, didn't you know? We have a moment, I freak out, you reassure me, and I haul ass halfway around the world. It's what we do."

He sighed, feeling Blaine's feet digging into his hip. He pulled the blanket closer around them. "I really don't think that's worth feeling guilty about. If that's what we do, it's taken us this far."

"You're saying we shouldn't try to fix what isn't broken?" Dave was getting hysterical now. "Well, guess what, Kurt? I'm pretty fucking  _broken."_

"Do you think I care about that? I know exactly who you are. I know who you are and I -" He paused and took a shaky breath. " - I love you anyway."

"Oh," said Dave helplessly. Kurt heard him choke on a sob. "I don't know how, or why, but -"

"Just let me, okay? I'm not asking for anything but that. Just let me love you, David."

Blaine reached out and grabbed for Kurt's free hand and squeezed it hard. He nodded at Kurt, as if giving his permission. Kurt smiled back at him, sad but grateful.

"Is that really all you want?"

"No," said Kurt. "It's what we've got, though."

He sat there listening to Dave's harsh breathing, waiting for him to say something else, wondering what else there was to do.

"I can't promise you anything at all," Dave finally said once his breathing had settled and the harsh sniffling that crackled over the line had stopped. "Hell, I don't even know when I'll be back in the country."

Kurt rested his head back on the arm of the couch. "I'm not asking for promises. Those postcards were nice."

Dave was silent for a moment and Kurt could hear the sharp tones of a loudspeaker in the background. "I've got to go, Kurt. We're boarding. I'll be in touch."

 _I'll bet,_  Kurt thought, but he just said, "I'd like that. Hope your flight is uneventful."

Kurt tossed his phone at the coffee table with a frustrated sigh, and Blaine captured his hands, kissing them. "Dave's flipping out again, huh?"

"I just don't know what to  _do,"_  Kurt moaned. "This feels so... so inadequate. He doesn't want what I have to offer, and..." He leaned helplessly into Blaine.

"It's not what you want, either." Blaine stroked his shoulder. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Kurt winced. " _No._ He doesn't even want to come over to our house. I don't think it's you, I think it's just... everything. It's too much for him."

Blaine nodded. "So, you wait. It's up to him, isn't it? He gets to live his life and make his choices. You're not responsible for making him happy."

"I just worry that all of his wandering will  _keep_  him from being happy instead of helping him get there." Kurt rubbed at his eyes and burrowed a little further down under the blanket. "And I'm supposed to do what? Keep waiting? Keep settling for a few hours together every couple of months?"

"No. You keep being there for him when he needs you, and you live your life. You get to be happy too, Kurt."

Kurt peered at Blaine over the edge of the blanket, at his sloppy hair and the ratty t-shirt he wore around the apartment, and the way his eyes squinted in the bright light of the tv. "I love you, you know."

Blaine grinned, wide and happy. "I know. And I love you too."

* * *

The next time Kurt heard from Dave, it was New Year's Eve. Kurt and Blaine were at a party, full of a bunch of the kids Blaine had met his first year when he'd lived in the dorms. Usually Kurt felt out of place at those things because Blaine's friends were so different from his friends, but it was beyond nice to be with a bunch of people who weren't trying to kill each other with stiletto heels over solos and starring roles.

He was fuzzy from too many cups of punch. It had looked innocent, like the juice-soda-floating sherbet his aunt used to bring to family potlucks, but this bowl most definitely had had something extra in it.

"I love you," Kurt said, pulling Blaine close against him. "You know you're the hottest guy at this party, right?"

Blaine snagged Kurt's cup by the lip and peered inside. "You've had too much, cowboy. Here."

Blaine traded the cup for a bottle of water. Kurt frowned. "It's really good. Sweet. Like home." He knew he wasn't making any sense.

"Uh huh." Blaine just smiled at him. "Drink your water. The ball is going to drop soon."

"Can't be midnight already. Where did the night go?"

Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt and hauled him off his perch against the kitchen counter. "I think you lost it in the bottom of a cup or twelve of that punch."

"Party pooper." Kurt tried to stick his tongue out at Blaine, but Blaine leaned in and kissed him instead, sloppy and a little too forward for public. Blaine pulled away and tugged on Kurt's hand, leading him into the living room. Everyone was crowded around the tv watching the ball all lit up in Times Square. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and settled his chin on Blaine's shoulder. "Happy New Year," he whispered into Blaine's ear.

He didn't hear Blaine's reply over the cheering of the others as the ball dropped, but he did feel his phone buzzing in his back pocket. He fished it out and thumbed to his text messages while listening with half an ear to Blaine singing  _Auld Lang Syne_. It was from Dave.

_Happy New Year 2015! We had our celebration last night. Warsaw is unbelievable. Headed out of the city in a day or two._

Kurt poked at his keyboard with a single thumb.  _Happy New Year, David. I hope 2015 gets you closer to what you're looking for._

He didn't get another text back.


	3. 2015

**2015**

It hadn't snowed in weeks, long enough for Kurt to feel like spring might actually happen any minute. But then, just after April Fools' Day, a freak snowstorm nearly shut the city down. It was bad enough that half of Kurt's teachers cancelled classes, unable to make it into Manhattan with the state of the mass transit system. He found himself with no classes in the middle of the week. It was unusual enough to seem like a holiday, and he cheerfully slogged through the snow-piled side streets to their favorite neighborhood coffee shop for a mocha to go.

"Coffee for your guy?" the barista asked, and Kurt shook his head.

"Not today. I'm all by my lonesome right now."

It wasn't actually all that lonely, most days, when Kurt was busy focusing on school and his internship. He hadn't even talked to Blaine in over a week. It was strange being at the apartment without him, but when he considered having an entire afternoon to stretch out on the couch and eat junk food and watch movies, it just sounded pleasant.

"Sorry to hear that," the barista said as she swiped his debit card. "You guys were so sweet together."

"Thanks," Kurt said. He hoped she wasn't going to ask what happened, because that was just too much personal stuff to go into in public. It was bad enough that  _he'd_  had to deal with the fallout from Blaine having unsafe sex; he didn't want other people sticking their noses into that part of his love life. "We might be okay, it's just going to take some time."

_Some time_ , he thought bitterly.  _Try five more months of waiting and worrying._

The snow was beautiful, though. Kurt knew in a few days it would all be brown and half-melted, but right now it felt very similar to an Ohio blizzard. He let the flakes fall on his face as he trudged back to the apartment with his coffee.

It was the perfect day to stay indoors, and Kurt abandoned his clothes in favor of a pair of yoga pants and a fleece jacket. He'd just managed to get warm in the old leather chair when the doorbell rang.

"Not home," he called. The bell rang again, and he heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. "Whoever you are, I am not buying what you've got."

"Damn you  _and_  your freaking city, Hummel!"

"David?" Kurt ran to the door and flung it open. Dave was dripping melting snow onto the tiled hallway, his now-worn suitcase and hiker's backpack at his feet. "You picked a hell of a week to visit."

"Yeah, well, you don't want to hear about what the fucking airport is like right now. I was supposed to be on a flight to Ohio." He wiped a hand through his hair and shook like a dog, spraying droplets all over Kurt's entryway. "So, can I come in or what?"

"Always." Kurt stepped aside and let Dave in, closed the door behind them, and then went digging in the in the bathroom cabinet for extra towels. He tossed the first one to Dave, who scrubbed at his hair and the worst of the water on his entirely-too-inadequate jacket.

"I wasn't going to assume. You keep inviting me over, but... I just show up one day? You totally have the right to say no."

"I don't think I could say no to you. Not when you look . . ."  _Exhausted. Ruined. Broken._  "Like you've been traveling for god knows how long."

Dave grimaced. "I could probably use a shower."

Kurt brought Dave some clean towels and showed him where the bathroom was. "Come out when you're done, and I'll make us lunch."

"Honestly, I don't think I can put anything into my stomach right now." He looked apologetic. "Thanks, Kurt. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything," Kurt insisted.

He waited until Dave had retreated behind the bathroom door and he heard the water start up before heading into the kitchen. There wasn't a lot; he'd been eating a lot of take-out, but he did have an emergency stash of tomato soup in the cupboard, and he always had fixings for grilled cheese in the fridge. On a whim he pulled out the package of bacon he'd bought the last time he had a BLT craving and cooked six slices.

He was just assembling the sandwiches when he heard the bathroom door open. He listened to Dave puttering around while he cooked, but by the time he walked into the living room with two plates, Dave was asleep on the couch, curled up under the soft blanket that Kurt always kept there.

Kurt stood there and watched the rise and fall of his chest, his arm carelessly flung over the edge of the couch, for rather longer than was probably okay. He was reminded of the last time he'd seen Dave asleep, in his bed back in Lima. Dave still looked awful, but at least now some of the tension was gone from his face. If he felt comfortable enough - or exhausted enough - to fall asleep on an unfamiliar couch, Kurt guessed he must be doing okay.

Kurt turned the volume down on the television and went back into the kitchen to put Dave's lunch into the refrigerator. He ate his own sandwich and soup, and then settled back into the leather chair with notes from his Advanced Acting workshop, watching the snow fall through the security bars on the window.

The light was beginning to fade when Dave finally stirred. Kurt set his copy of  _A Doll's House_  aside and tucked the pen he'd been using to annotate it behind his ear.

"Hey," he whispered. "Feeling any better?"

"Mmmm," Dave groaned, blinking and rubbing his face. "Like I've been run over by a truck. I guess I needed to sleep."

"You looked pretty bad when you got here."

"I suppose three countries in four days will do that to you. It feels really good not to be in an airport or on a plane or a bus right now."

"How long are you in the city for?"  _Please don't say you're leaving tomorrow,_  Kurt pleaded silently. He wanted - he  _needed_ more time with Dave before he disappeared again.

Dave just shrugged. "No idea."

"I know the couch isn't all that comfortable, but you're welcome to it."

"It's better than a floor, or a moving bus. Thank you." He glanced around the apartment. "Blaine won't mind me crashing here?"

Kurt shook his head. "Blaine and I are taking a break."

Dave opened his mouth, then closed it again. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. So was Blaine, when he told me."

"Told you what?"

Kurt sighed. He hadn't even talked about the circumstances of the split with his father. It wasn't that he was embarrassed, he just didn't want people to judge him, or Blaine, for that matter. "Blaine had a little  _too_  much fun over spring break with his friends, and he wasn't smart or safe about it. So I suggested he take a couple months to think about it until the six month incubation period was up." He shrugged. "It's not as awful as it sounds. We're still talking."  _Kind of._

Dave nodded. His eyes had already glazed over; it was obvious he wasn't in any condition to focus on much. "I'm glad."

"Are you hungry now? There's grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch or we can order out."

Dave blinked a couple of times. "Don't laugh at me."

"What?"

"I really want pizza. The really good thin crust kind with awesome cheese and nice, spicy sauce. There's not much about American food I really miss when I'm gone, but pizza is definitely in the top five. Although it was pretty good in Berlin."

Kurt smiled and got up, snagging the phone and the menu from the delivery place around the corner. "You're in luck then. It's not just the bagels that are amazing here."

They ate right from the box with napkins to catch drippy cheese and watched the local weather broadcast which kept running tape of people and vehicles sliding on the ice. "This shouldn't be funny, right?" Kurt said between giggles. "I mean, we shouldn't be laughing at other people's bad fortunes."

"I think they gave up all right to expect us  _not_  to laugh when they decided to try to drive on ice."

Dave picked up a piece of pizza and regarded it, munching. "You know, I tried to order pepperoni pizza in Berlin? And they gave me pizza with these weird pale green little pepper things. Apparently 'pepperoni' is something else there."

"That's . . . kind of gross."

"Tell me about it." Dave chewed and swallowed and then pointed at the tv, where a city bus was sliding half backwards and half sideways down a hill. "Incoming!" he called, and Kurt collapsed in laughter again.

They ate and watched TV until Kurt's eyelids were heavy, and midnight had come and gone. He snuggled up to Dave without really thinking about it. "Classes are cancelled again tomorrow, but I really need to go to sleep."

Dave nodded. "I apologize in advance for my weird sleeping habits. I don't sleep well to start with, and the time difference . . .." He trailed off, his gaze somewhere in the distance.

"You don't have to apologize. It's just nice having you here."

"You don't mind if I crash on your couch? Honestly?"

Kurt shook his head. "As long as  _you_  don't mind. It's not bad for a nap, but it's not the most comfortable place to spend a night."

Dave shrugged. "It's soft and it's quiet and I'm not sharing a room in a hostel with three other guys. I'm not picky about where I sleep. Now, if you could just keep it from snowing every time I'm here, that would be most excellent."

Kurt nodded, grinning, and rubbed at his eyes. "I'll get you some blankets and then I'm going to crash."

Except that once he was in bed, he couldn't fall asleep.

What kept him awake was the thought that, no matter how much he'd been all set to enjoy his day to himself, when Dave appeared on his front step, Kurt hadn't thought twice about inviting him in. It hadn't felt like an imposition at all. He wanted him to stay. It was puzzling, how easy it was, and it kept his brain annoyingly active far later than he'd intended to stay up. If Blaine had been there, he would have had someone to hold, to reach out for when it got too hard to deal with things on his own.

He finally fumbled on the nightstand for his phone. He had to squint to see, but he managed to tap out a text to Blaine that wasn't autocorrected  _too_  badly.

_Dave is here_ , he sent.  _He seems a little lost and a lot tired. He's crashing on the sofa. It feels complicated, and I miss you tonight._

He didn't get a response, which kept him up even later, wondering if he should try again, but finally he did fall into a fitful, too-brief sleep.

When morning came, he emerged, grumpy and scowling, into the kitchen. Dave was still buried under the blanket, unmoving. Kurt thought he should be annoyed at Dave for disrupting his sleep, but he couldn't dredge up anything but confusion.

* * *

Every morning for two weeks, Kurt got up and went to class, while Dave got up and went . . . somewhere. He didn't talk a lot, except to make dumb jokes and ask Kurt about his classes and the upcoming spring workshop that he was performing in. For his part, Kurt just played along. He knew enough to be sure that Dave would come to him when he was ready, and that pushing would only make him go closed off and silent, so he waited.

The second Thursday of Dave's stay, Kurt got held up after rehearsal and then he missed his train, so it was well after 9 pm by the time he dragged himself home, tired and hungry and craving more than Dave's brooding silence.

He fumbled with his key in the lock and practically fell through the door. He dropped his dance bag and his messenger bag to the floor and then just leaned against the closed door for a moment.

"Something smells good," he said, eyes closed.

"I took a gamble that you like Indian." Dave was bustling around in the tiny kitchen, opening takeout containers and dishing food onto plates. "Chicken tikka masala, saag paneer, vegetable biryani." He nodded at two plastic containers set back from the rest of the food. "I didn't know if you liked kheer or that mango cream stuff, so I got both."

"Oh." Kurt opened his eyes again in a hurry, reaching for the kheer, which was runny and sweet and perfect. He spilled a little on the counter when he opened the plastic container, and when he used his finger to swipe it up, Dave grinned, but didn't comment.

"Dessert first, huh? I should have remembered." He put a big spoonful of basmati rice on his plate. "So ask me where I've been all day."

Kurt eyed the already-open bottle of wine on the counter, and the half-full glass by the edge of the sink. "Wherever it was, I'm guessing it was a long day?"

Dave sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "They're all long days, lately. I was at the library, just like I was yesterday and the day before. Oh, actually, the day before I was at the LDS research room on 3rd."

Kurt nodded, and reached above the sink for a wine glass of his own. He poured a generous amount and sipped, leaning against the counter. "You're still working on your genealogy? I thought you were done with that. You never mentioned it after your last visit."

"There's not a lot to mention. There's not a lot of anything. There was . . ." Dave swallowed hard, clenched his hand so hard his knuckles went white. "There was nothing fucking left."

"Nothing left  _where_?" Kurt was having trouble following.

"Bialystok. There's hundreds of thousands of people still living there, but there's  _nothing._  Nothing  _Jewish_ , anyway. A memorial at a mass grave near the remains of the great synagogue. The people who weren't killed and buried there in town were shipped off to Warsaw, to the ghetto. Most of the existing Jewish cemeteries in Bialystok were vandalized. It's anyone's best guess where the survivors went from there, if they even got  _out_  of there. That's what I've been trying to find out, where the survivors ended up."

Kurt watched his hand shaking a little as Dave deposited his own half-empty glass of wine on the counter. "Well, you know some of them got out. You're here, after all."

Dave shook his head. "My part of the family came long before the war. I don't . . . I don't think I'd be here at all if they hadn't gotten out when they did."

Kurt slid into the space between Dave and the fridge, wanting to touch but not wanting to turn off whatever had gotten Dave talking. "You found something today?"

"Eight hundred stones, in Treblinka." He gestured uselessly with his hands. "Inscribed with the names of destroyed Jewish communities in Poland. Because apparently there were800,000 Jews killed at that particular set of gas chambers. The record-keeping isn't spectacular. Two great aunts survived the ghetto, but it doesn't look like they even made it inside Treblinka. Off the train and right into the gas chamber."

"David." Kurt reached out a hand, touched it to Dave's, and startled when Dave gripped back, hard.

"I knew," Dave whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. "I mean, I didn't, really, but I suspected? And it still didn't matter, being prepared or expecting or whatever. It felt like I'd taken a helmet to my stomach. How can that many people just be  _gone_?"

"I wish I had some answer that wasn't pithy or depressing." He let Dave hold on as tight as he needed, leaning in closer. "War isn't ever pretty."

Dave huffed out a sharp, bitter laugh. "No shit."

Kurt surveyed the table, covered with Indian food, the plate with the rice, and Dave's ruined face. "I think," he said carefully, "that you need to eat something. And then maybe some sleep would be good."

Dave nodded, downed the rest of his glass of wine, and filled his plate without any real attention. Kurt followed, taking a little more care with his.

"Do you mind if we eat here?" Kurt asked, gesturing around the kitchen.. "I'm so tired. If I sit down you're going to have to roll me to bed, but I can't fall asleep yet. I still have homework for tomorrow."

"Be my guest." Dave's voice was dull and distracted. The way he ate made it clear his mind was elsewhere. Kurt's heart ached for him, but taking care of Dave wasn't the same as it would have been if he'd tried to do the same for Blaine. There was too much in the way to make it simple. Whatever he could do to help, it was going to

Once they had finished eating and had packed the leftovers away in the fridge, Kurt had come to a decision. "You should take my bed tonight. I'll sleep on the couch."

Dave shook his head. "No, that's okay. You're the one who has to be on his game tomorrow."

"David." Kurt held Dave's gaze when he looked up from wiping down the counter. "I want to. There's not a lot I can do to help, not without things getting complicated. But I can do this. Please. Take my bed."

Dave looked at him for a long moment. "It's already complicated," he said quietly. "And I don't think where I sleep's going to make much of a difference. But if it would make you feel better, I'll switch with you, just for tonight."

"I'm going to take a shower and then I'll be out of your hair. Leave the rest of the cleaning, too; I'll finish that all up later."

Dave was quiet while he got ready for bed. Kurt considered changing the sheets, but it had only been him sleeping there for a while now, and he didn't think Dave was even going to notice one way or the other. But when Dave was finally under the covers and Kurt was about to turn off the light, he stopped Kurt with one word.

"Stay?"

Kurt blinked at him, surprised. "You sure?"

"Please. I don't want to be alone right now." He looked embarrassed by this admission, and added, "I can watch the goriest horror movies, but this..."

"I can understand that," Kurt assured him. He could still remember the nights after the accident, when he would wake up hearing the crash and smelling the smoke, calling for his mother, only to find his father crammed into his tiny twin bed with him. "Will the light bother you, if I stay up and work on my reading?"

"No. That'd be perfect."

Dave looked so grateful, Kurt wanted to hug him, but he just nodded and went to collect his things. He settled down on top of the blankets, letting his leg touch Dave's, hoping the warmth would calm him more than agitate him.

After a few minutes, Dave pressed his leg back against Kurt's, and Kurt smiled.

"'night," Dave mumbled. Kurt started to reply, but Dave was already asleep.

Three hours later, Kurt woke with a start. Someone was crying. Who was crying? He rubbed a hand over his face, but his hand came away dry. It wasn't him. Good.

No. Not good. Who was crying? Blaine was staying with friends. Finn was in Ohio.

Oh.

Dave.

Dave had kicked the blankets back, and he was shivering. "No," he kept pleading. "No. No, I won't. You can't make me. I know what they do in the camps, I won't  _go!_ "

Kurt was fully awake now. He reached down and tugged the blankets back over Dave's thrashing form, putting a hand on his leg to let him know he was there. Dave sat up suddenly, breathing hard, but he didn't seem to be coherent enough for Kurt to know if he could tell the difference between reality and the dream.

"David," he said urgently.

"Huh." Dave blinked at him in the almost-dark. "Wha'?" He sniffled and dug at his eyes with the heel of one hand. "Kurt? What's wrong?"

"You were having a nightmare."

Dave just sat there in silence for a moment. "Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah. Right. I was. Sorry."

"Do you remember any of it? Is there anything I can do?" He felt suddenly awkward. "Would you rather I go in the other room?"

"No, please stay. I think - I think I just need to go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to read to you? We're still slogging through  _A Doll's House,_  I can't say it's terribly good, though I'm sure the patron saints of theater would have my head for saying that."

Dave burrowed back down under the blankets, leaving one hand out to rest on Kurt's hip. "That's my Kurt: NYADA renegade."

Kurt skimmed back through the manuscript, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "I'll have to read all the parts. And the stage directions. It'll put you back to sleep in no time, as long as it doesn't put  _me_  to sleep too."

Kurt started in the middle of act one, trying to eliminate any expression from his voice as he read the parts of Nora and Helmer arguing. As Dave's breathing evened out, he leaned in a little to listen.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mmmmmm," Dave mumbled. Kurt thought Dave might already be asleep when he didn't say anything else, but then he shifted, rolling in closer to Kurt's leg. "Good to be home," he added softly. "You always feel like home."

Kurt held his reaction back, just went on reading as if Dave's words didn't matter, as if he hadn't even heard them at all. Eventually he put the manuscript down, unable to concentrate, and lay down beside Dave, the light still on. He stared up at the ceiling.

"You're still my best friend," he said into the quiet of the room. "I miss you."

It didn't change anything, but it still felt good to get the words out.

* * *

The next day, when Kurt came home from class, Dave was already there, sitting at the table with his computer and a stack of books from the library. Kurt picked  _The Drowned and the Saved_  up and leafed through it.

"Do I want to know how you convinced them to allow you to check these out?"

"They're under your name," Dave said absently, not looking up from the one he was reading. "I'll bring them back at the end of the week."

"How much did you have to bribe the librarian to get access to my account without my ID?"

Dave shrugged. "I might have sweet-talked her in Polish."

"I didn't know you  _spoke_  Polish."

"I don't." Dave smirked at him. "Well. I speak enough to sweet-talk a librarian."

Kurt left Dave there in the kitchen while he showered and changed, then he joined him at the table with his own computer and the paper he was writing. When it was dark out, Dave rooted through the menu drawer and held up a Thai menu, looking at Kurt with one eyebrow raised in a question. Kurt nodded, trusting Dave to order for him while he kept up the momentum he'd gained on his paper.

They ate from the containers of pad Thai and pad se ew, passing them back and forth amidst piles of papers and books, and when Kurt finally drew himself away from his work with a blink and a yawn, Dave was quick to speak.

"Go to bed," he told Kurt. "I think I'm going to be up for a while still, and I'm much better tonight. I can sleep on the couch."

"No you can't," Kurt said firmly. "Tonight it's your turn to read to me."

* * *

The rest of the week went like that. Kurt would text Dave on his way home, they'd decide what to do for dinner, and spend the rest of the evening talking through whatever Dave had read that day. It was refreshing to dig into material that was so different from the things Kurt was studying at school, but even better was the opportunity to hear Dave's passion come out in the way he spoke. At night, Kurt would finish his own homework in bed, next to Dave, and when he was sure Dave was sleeping soundly, he would turn off the light and join him. There were no more nightmares after the first time, but Kurt always woke up with Dave rolled up in the blanket, as close to Kurt as he could get without shoving him out the other side. Kurt didn't complain, even though he wondered what Dave was dreaming about.

And then Thursday night, Kurt came home, and Dave was gone, along with all of his things. The library books were in a stack on the table, along with the spare apartment key Kurt had given him. There wasn't anything to indicate where he'd gone, and when Kurt sent him an inquiring text, he received no reply.

Kurt knew Dave well enough not to be scared by this, but it stung to think Dave would revert to his old ways so easily, taking off without a word like that. Then he was annoyed with himself for thinking such a thing.  _This is David's life. It's not about you; he doesn't owe you anything._

Rather than sit in his apartment, which now felt so much more empty than it had before Dave had arrived earlier that week, Kurt gathered up the library books and brought them back to the library. They weren't just about the Holocaust; there were titles about Darfur and Cambodia and Rwanda. Kurt read the introduction to  _A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility_  on the subway, hearing Dave's insightful commentary in his head.

When he set the stack of books onto the counter at the library, the woman who came to check them back in smiled at Kurt. "You must be Dave's partner. I hope these gave him the information he needed."

Kurt stepped back from the desk, startled. "He's not- um. You helped him."

"I did. He's a sweet man. Nobody has spoken Polish to me since my grandmother passed. I told him some of her stories; she came here after the war. But that's neither here nor there. Your Dave, he has lots of questions. Was he able to get some answers?"

Kurt poked at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker. "I don't know," he said honestly.

"Well. Tell him that Eliana says hi."

"I will," Kurt promised, even though he had no idea if or when he'd be able to deliver on it.

* * *

He did his best to revert to his old patterns, but it was surprisingly hard to go back to living alone after having Dave there with him. He found himself distracted during class, wondering about the current situation in Darfur or the story he'd heard on the radio about the proposed Holocaust memorial. At home, he started listening to podcasts for company instead of the television, wishing he could share what he was hearing with Dave.

But he couldn't, and he realized that isolating himself wasn't helping, either. The first warm day of May, Kurt took himself to his favorite ice cream place and walked the neighborhood while he ate his cone. He'd just shoved the last crunchy, melty bit into his mouth when his phone rang.

"Mph-o?"

"Kurt?"

Kurt finished chewing and swallowed. "Dad, hey. Sorry. Ice cream."

"I got worried, I didn't hear from you. You're always so good about calling back, but I figured you were busy with the workshop and all."

Kurt tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear and wiped at his ice creamy hands with an inadequate napkin. Once he'd taken care of the worst of it, he plopped down onto a bus bench. "When did you call?"

"A couple weeks ago. You weren't home. David answered, said you were letting him stay there a little while."

"Yeah. He was between trips. He's gone again, now, though."

"Oh." His dad sounded surprised. "When we talked, he sounded like maybe he was thinking of sticking around for a little while. But Paul did say that David's got wanderlust like nobody he's ever met, so I could have read him wrong."

"What did you talk about?"

"I asked about Blaine, and he said Blaine had moved out. So I congratulated him on the two of you finally figuring  _that_  out. Not to disrespect what you and Blaine had, Kurt, you  _know_  I like the kid, it's just that I can tell Dave is good for you in a different way. I'm happy for you guys, really."

"No, no. There is no us, Dad." Kurt blinked back unexpected tears. "David just took off. I have no idea where he is, or if he's ever coming back. He won't answer my texts. I really thought I'd stopped scaring him off."

His dad sounded perplexed. "But then why did Dave say -" He paused, then sighed. "Okay. I mean, obviously you know best."

Kurt's brain spun with possibilities of what else could have been said between his dad and Dave, trying to pin down what combination of words or expectations might have sent Dave fleeing this time. Finally he just let out a frustrated growl. "He is  _infuriating_."

"He's just a kid, Kurt," his dad said sympathetically. "He's trying to figure things out just like you are. He's gonna make some mistakes, you know?"

He crumpled his napkin in his fist. "Since when are you on  _Dave Karofsky's_  side?"

"Since I thought you guys had finally gotten over yourselves and gotten together. You're both too blind to see it, the ways you settle each other. But it's not my life, Kurt, and your life isn't David's. Give him time, he'll stop running eventually."

"He's been running for three years. I'm not holding my breath."

"Good. Don't wait for him, either. Just live your life, and when he's ready he knows where to find you."

Kurt ran his dad's words over and over in his head for the next three days, and when his phone rang late Thursday afternoon, when Blaine asked if he could come home, Kurt didn't hesitate before saying yes.

* * *

Blaine brought home a new espresso machine, which struck Kurt as a strange thing to buy in the middle of the sticky New York summer, but he had to admit the way Blaine ground his own beans and fussed over the crema was endearing.

Blaine took to bringing him tiny cups of bitter, rich brew on weekend mornings, while Kurt sat in bed with his laptop, catching up on the Google alerts he had set in regards to new stories in the news about genocide. He wasn't sure if it was Blaine's way of apologizing for his earlier actions, or if he was just being social. Either way, it was nice.

But the second week of August, the story at the top of Kurt's list of links caught his attention. It wasn't the content of the article, a blog entry from a traveler in Rwanda, that gave him pause. It was the byline:  _DJ Karofsky._

"Blaine," he said excitedly, tapping the screen when Blaine came in with his espresso, "this writer. It's  _David._ "

"Let me see." Blaine set the cup on the bedside table and leaned back against Kurt's pillow, pulling the screen closer. "How do you know? There are other Karofskys out there."

"Because -" Kurt paused, remembering the confidentiality agreement they'd always recited at their PFLAG meetings in high school. "I just know."

They read the initial entry together. Kurt couldn't find any other identifying information or contact emails. It  _could_  have been anyone writing on that travel blog, except that Kurt could hear Dave saying the words in his head, as clearly as if he'd spoken them in his own voice.

Kurt followed the blog religiously after that. David was a good writer, and his passion for what he was discovering came through just as it had in his postcards. Blaine asked him about it every now and then, but mostly he let Kurt read Dave's words in peace, for which Kurt was grateful. He couldn't have explained to Blaine if he'd asked why it was so important to him to have those words, but he looked forward to reading them every week.

* * *

_August 15, 2015_

_I haven't been to Africa before. I'm not sure what I was expecting. Heat, yes. People, definitely. Dust, mosquitos, more languages than I could learn in a lifetime? Of course. But I also wasn't expecting to find community, to find people willing to welcome an American. Because no matter how many places I've been, how many languages I speak well enough to order coffee or ask for directions, I'm still an American. And here, in Rwanda, I'm even more than that. Here, I'm an American researching the genocide._

_I came here because I needed a change of scenery. I needed something that wasn't the empty land where Auschwitz or Treblinka once stood. I needed a space that wasn't filled with the ghosts of the ghettos, of the camps._

_I thought that it would be different, here, but there are just as many ghosts in Rwanda as there are in Poland, in Germany._

_I came here to escape, but there is no escape._

_I guess now I'm looking for answers. What makes a people turn on their own? Where does the hate come from? How many more times does the world have to live through another Holocaust, another Rwanda, another Darfur or Bosnia or Syria?_

_When will it stop?_

* * *

_September 9th, 2015_

_The Olympic stadium in Sarajevo is bullet-scarred. There's a graveyard in its shadows. Another city, another people, slain out of hatred and misunderstanding and religious vitriol._

_I'm tired, and I have no words._

* * *

_December 31, 2015_

_I'm not sure what I thought, coming here to Chile. I guess I wondered if it would feel different if the genocide was the result of a military action, but it doesn't. The Tsitsernakaberd memorial is just as bleak as the others, even with the flowers._ _All those people are still gone, 130,000 of them in three years. The streets must have felt so empty, so quiet._

_Is that what San Francisco felt like in the early days of AIDS?_

_Too many thoughts, these days, too many parallels revealing themselves between the different parts of who I am._

_No answers, not yet, only more questions._

* * *

_February 13th, 2016_

_Back in Warsaw, which is where this whole journey started. I'm off to Belfast tomorrow, to learn more about The Troubles. I have a sweet internship to boot, working with a senior reporter for a Well Known Magazine. I don't know what the future is going to look like. I'm still searching, still wandering, still asking questions and finding fewer answers than I'd like, but I'm also learning not be so worked up about it all._

_I suppose the one thing these last months have taught me is that you never know when the world is going to shift under your feet._

_I'm worn out, not from all the traveling but from all the hate and all the ghosts. I can't carry them with me anymore, so I leave them here._

_Thank you all for your loyal readership these last few months._

_-DJ_

* * *

That was the last entry. Kurt tried to find him somewhere else, searching all kinds of combinations of Dave's name, but he never got any hits. That first winter he checked almost every day, but the longer Dave went without a word, without any kind of hint as to where he was or what he was doing, the more Kurt decided it was time to step back. He remembered his father's words:  _just live your life, and when he's ready he knows where to find you._

So he went on, living his life, for three years after that.

* * *

His father was right: Dave  _did_ know where to find him, 3 am on a February Tuesday. Kurt picked up the phone without thinking. He didn't even recognize the ringtone he'd chosen until he heard Dave's voice.

"Kurt," he said. Dave was crying. "I'm so sorry, I just - I didn't know who else to call."

"It's... it's okay." He rubbed his eyes irritably, shaking his head at Blaine's sleepy inquiry. "What's going on? Where have you been? David, do you know I've been looking for you for -"

"I need you."

Dave's words stopped Kurt, the anguish in them almost slamming Kurt back against his pillows. He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his robe off the back of their bedroom door and tying the belt around his waist while balancing his phone on his shoulder.

Kurt thought later that there was no logical reason for him to answer the way he did. By all rights, he should have hung up on Dave, told him to call back in the morning, that  _he'd_  been the one to walk away. That he could have said something,  _anything,_  to let Kurt know he was safe.

He wanted to ask  _where have you been_ and  _did you find what you were looking for_ , but he couldn't think about any of that while Dave was crying into his ear. "Where are you?" he finally managed to ask.

Dave's words were mangled by tears and distance. Kurt didn't understand.

"Where?" He flipped his laptop open on the kitchen table and waited for it to restart.

"Paris," Dave said. "I'm in Paris."

He'd set aside enough money for an emergency plane ticket when his dad had first gotten sick, and it was still there.

"Okay." He sighed. He was going to have to wake Blaine for this. "I've always wanted to go to Paris." He scrutinized the list of available flights. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"He's dead. He's  _been_  dead for three months, and I only just found out -  _fuck_."

Kurt's hand froze on the keyboard. "Who's dead?"

"Eitan. My boyfriend."


	4. Eitan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knittycat wrote this brief interlude to give us a little glimpse into Dave's life with his boyfriend Eitan.
> 
> [Our inspiration for Eitan](http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e5/cb/ff/e5cbffb218783d9e491093106c799f8b.jpg)

 

Dave realized, in a single brief clear-headed moment after he heard the news, that he shouldn't have been surprised. Eitan had told him as much the first time they'd been together, the night the students had rallied again in Cairo. It had taken the heightened tension and emotions of the day to turn three months of circumstantial meetings, cautious flirting, and lingering glances into something concrete.

It had also taken a little wine, just enough to give Dave the courage he needed to hook a finger into one of Eitan's belt loops as they left the hotel restaurant. "Come back to my room?" he'd asked cautiously.

"With pleasure."

Dave's room was cool and dark, a respite from the chaos and heat outside. They were both covered in the acrid hint of tear gas and dirt, and Dave could still feel the adrenaline under his skin as he chased his fingers with his lips up Eitan's back, pausing once at the Star of David tattooed at the base of his spine, again at the red heart with  _Chava_  inscribed along one side on his shoulder, coming to rest finally on the winding path of Hebrew down the back of his left arm.

"Tell me," Dave said, tracing the outline of the unfamiliar characters. "What does it mean? Who's Chava?"

Eitan sighed and looked over his shoulder at Dave, his eyes heavy. "Ah, but I'm a man with secrets, my David. As are you, yes?"

Dave swallowed, and nodded against his will. "Yeah."

"Sometimes I think it's only the crazy students and men with secrets who end up in places like this."

"Maybe."

"If I tell you about my Chava, will you tell me about the boy who makes you so sad?"

Dave shook his head. "I can't. He's . . . he's my past."

Eitan reached up and brushed his thumb over Dave's jaw. "As Chava is mine. So we leave the past in the past and go forward, hm?"

Dave smiled shakily. "Sounds good."

* * *

"Why aren't you just using your digital?" Eitan shielded his eyes against the sun while Dave rifled in his backpack for a film canister.

"Because there's something really sexy about print photography. And this way I can shoot you in black and white." He held a hand up in triumph, the plastic canister clutched in his fist. He set his camera on a towel and opened it, careful to keep sand from getting in it or on the new film.

"Is there even anywhere  _in_  Athens to develop film?"

"Shut up." Dave snapped the camera closed and held it up to his eye. "Just lay there and look pretty," he teased.

"Fuck you," Eitan mumbled, but he posed for Dave anyway.

* * *

The outdoor market in Marrakesh was busy even late in the evening. Dave was careful not to touch Eitan, not to lean too close, but it was hard. They'd been apart for almost two months, their assignments never overlapping, and Dave was aching for contact. His shoulders twitched, and Eitan laughed, low and gentle.

"Easy, my David. We're almost to the hotel. Then you can have me however you want me."

"What if I want  _you_ to have me, tonight?" He let the words out in a rush. "Oh." He felt heat rising up his face, heat that  _wasn't_ caused by the heavy spices in his dinner. "I said that out loud."

Eitan slid close enough to jostle Dave gently with his shoulder. "I like that idea very much."

* * *

"I've always wanted to see Tel Aviv." Dave shifted against Eitan's body and adjusted the sheet that had fallen off his hip. The window was open, and the air tickling over his skin was cool.

Eitan clucked and shook his head against Dave's shoulder. "It's my city, of course I would love to show it to you. But it's not always easy for Americans to travel easily elsewhere once they have an Israeli entrance stamp on their passport. And you need to be able to travel freely, my David." He pressed his fingers over Dave's heart, and they left a tingling warmth behind. "It's what your heart needs, more than it needs to come to Israel."

Dave closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Am I fooling myself? Is this real, between us, or is it just a diversion?"

"It's real." Eitan wrapped an arm over Dave and pulled him close. "It's as real as anything can be, between men like us."

"Men like us, how?"

"Always running, always searching, chasing the story or the adrenaline or whatever will take us out of our own damn stupid heads." He pressed his forehead to Dave's. "Remember what I told you, our first night together?"

Dave nodded, felt Eitan's hair tickle his nose.

"We're men with secrets, my David. It's real, what we have, but we both know that it's not  _everything_."

Dave blinked, shocked to feel tears in his eyes. There were so many things he wanted to say:  _it's not everything, but it's as close as I've ever come to it_ ; _I miss you when we're apart_ ; _I think I might be in love with you._  But he swallowed the tears back and held his tongue about the state of his heart. Instead, he laced his fingers together with Eitan's and chose his next words carefully. "Where do you go next?"

Eitan squeezed his hand. "Home. Well. Israel, at least. The elections are next week, and then my nephew is getting married, and there's always the chance that things will heat up again, in Gaza. And where is your ticket to, my David?"

Dave smiled. His next trip was going to be a good one. "Johannesburg. The opening of the Mandela Freedom Museum."

"Mmmm. You're excited?"

"I was there, when he died. It was . . ." Dave trailed off, remembering the push of people in the streets, the celebration of Mandela's life. It had opened something inside of him, being a part of that moment. "It was a lot of things. I'm happy to be going back. And then, I'm not sure. Ken mentioned something yesterday about possibly South Sudan, but it's all up in the air."

Eitan grinned. "It is always like that, in our line of work. But we love it or we wouldn't do it. What do you think, shall we try to catch each other next month, then? We probably both have enough air miles for Paris?"

"I've never been to Paris," Dave admitted. He'd half been waiting to see it with Kurt, but somehow that didn't matter so much anymore.

"Then we shall go together. I would love to show it to you. Now," he leaned in and kissed Dave gently. "I don't have to leave for six more hours."

"Good." Dave kissed him back, and there was no more talk of work or travel.

* * *

It wasn't unusual, to go a month without talking. It was, as Eitan had said, the nature of their lives. It was also not unusual for plans to be delayed or changed with little to no warning. He didn't think about it, just spent two days in Berlin finishing up some work before hopping a plane to Paris.

On the second day, he started to worry. He would have panicked on the third day, except when he got down to the hotel lobby for breakfast Eitan's cameraman Ari was there, a crumpled envelope in his hand and a look of anguish on his face. Dave knew everything he needed to in that moment. Everything came crashing down, and all he could think was  _I need Kurt_.


	5. 2018

**2018**

Kurt tried to sleep on the plane, but he couldn't settle his brain. He just kept running the past six years over and over, like one of those plastic viewfinders he'd had as a kid: Dave at PFLAG; the two of them drinking coffee together; the night he'd helped Kurt with his math and stayed over; Christmas night in New York; all the time they  _hadn't_  had together because Dave was . . . wherever Dave had been. He ended up staring out the window for so long at the dark sky that his eyes started to water, and he swapped out his contact lenses for glasses while the woman beside him snoozed away peacefully.

Blaine's last series of texts before the plane took off hadn't been particularly patient or loving, but Kurt couldn't exactly blame him for that, not when he'd basically dumped pet care and managing the apartment solely into Blaine's grad-school weary lap. He hadn't yelled or blamed him or said Kurt owed him anything; they'd been partners for too long now for that to happen. Blaine's anger was all about Dave.

_How can you trust that he'll even be there when you get to Paris?_  Blaine had asked. And Kurt didn't know how to explain that it didn't matter, that it was that Dave had  _asked_ , and of course Kurt would respond to that request. Of  _course_  he would.

_I just don't understand the way things are between you,_  Blaine had sent while Kurt waited at the gate for the plane to board.  _It doesn't seem to me like you're getting anything much from whatever this is. It's just_ _ **you**_ _, always giving to him. It's not healthy, Kurt._

It was an old argument, but one that hadn't come up in years. As far as Blaine was concerned, Dave Karofsky had dropped out of Kurt's life, and that had been it. It wasn't surprising that Blaine was confused and worried. But Kurt had no patience for either of those at the moment, not in the middle of the night.

_I don't know what to tell you, Blaine,_  he'd typed, jabbing the tiny buttons on his phone angrily.  _ **I**_ _don't understand the boys you like to pick up when you go out,_ _ **that**_ _doesn't seem healthy to me, but you still do it and I don't say anything as long as you're safe._ It was the lowest of blows, but Kurt was exhausted and frustrated and more than a little bitchy.

_Didn't we have this fight three years ago?_

_Yeah. But clearly it's still a thing. Sorry, Blaine. I can't talk about any of this right now. I'll let you know when I land._

It was bad timing, he had to admit. Not that it would have been easy at any time, but in a moment when their own relationship was being called into question, it didn't help to have this added reminder of all the ways in which he and Blaine were different. Blaine wasn't worried or scared about moving to Austin for his Ph.D., he was thrilled at the idea. Kurt, on the other hand, had been thrown into an anxiety attack more than once when their neighbors moved away. Change unsettled him.

Except when it came to Dave. Somehow Blaine couldn't understand that it was because Dave  _didn't_  change. He always had been brilliant and good-hearted, and unexpectedly broken in ways that Kurt recognized with his own heart. Blaine, on the other hand, was socially competent and adaptable in ways that had always felt foreign to Kurt. In ways more subtle than appearance or behavior, Blaine was able to convince the rest of the world that he was just like everybody else - which was something Kurt had never and would never be able to do.

And Dave... well, Dave had spent so many years trying to be the boy everyone expected, trying and failing to live up to an ideal he had no way of reaching. Even though it had been three years since they'd talked, Kurt suspected that there was still a part of Dave that was afraid of who he was and what that meant for any dreams he had. Dave didn't keep many people close to him, which meant that he needed Kurt in a way that Blaine never would.

Kurt chuckled softly to himself. He supposed that was one more way he and Dave were alike; he didn't keep people close, either, and no matter how much he and Blaine loved each other there would always be parts of Kurt that Blaine would never know - and this, this  _thing_  he had with Dave, was one of them.

Deplaning in Paris was definitely surreal, especially considering it was ten o'clock at night there and felt like mid-afternoon. Kurt was too exhausted to appreciate the view of the city at night, and too worried to relax.

He stared at his phone, realizing suddenly he wouldn't be able to text Blaine at all while he was there. He'd have to figure out the wifi situation before they could have contact again. It was a little embarrassing how much of a relief that was, to have some enforced space from Blaine.

" _Où allez-vous?"_  the taxi driver asked.

" _Hotel Brittanique, s'il vous plaît,"_  he replied. He rested his head against the glass of the window and scrolled through pictures on his phone, wondering how much Dave had changed in the last three years.

When the driver quoted him the fare, he just handed him his credit card and scribbled his name on the receipt.

" _Merci beaucoup,"_ he said, handing the receipt and pen back to the driver. He couldn't even worry about being overcharged.

" _Avec plaisir. Bon nuit, monsieur."_

Kurt tugged his carry-on through the front doors, hesitating whether to check in at the grand lobby desk before inquiring about Dave. But then he saw him, hunched over a drink at the bar across the room, and all other thoughts fled.

Kurt crossed the lobby, set his bag on the floor, and climbed onto the bar stool next to Dave. When Dave glanced over at him with bleary, startled eyes, Kurt just smiled at him. "I feel like I should ask you  _how's life at your new school?_  Even if this place is head and shoulders above Scandals."

Dave almost smiled back. "Do I still need to tell you to watch your boyfriend?"

Kurt laughed. "Kind of always. But he seldom tries to take me with him when he goes dancing anymore."

"That's good, I guess." Dave knocked back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the bar with a thud, and motioned to the bartender. The man poured Dave another drink, dark amber liquid over a pile of ice.

" _Un verre de vin blanc, s'il vous plaît,"_  Kurt said to the bartender. His eyes narrowed at the stack of empty shot glasses beside the bar sink.  _"Combien de verres a eu il?"_

" _Assez,"_  the bartender said. Kurt nodded.

"This is your last one."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dave asserted.

"You're right, you're not, but losing yourself in the bottom of that glass isn't going to fix what happened. It's not going to make you feel better."

"It makes me not feel anything at all." He rustled the ice in his glass. "That's kind of the  _point_ , Kurt."

"I need you sober enough to tell me what happened. Because if you think I'm flying all the way across the Atlantic and getting no answers, you're sorely mistaken."

Dave stared at his hands. "You didn't have to come," he said, his words dripping with bitterness and anger.

"Yes," said Kurt impatiently. "I did. Why are you here?"

He shrugged. "I've never been to Paris."

"That's not an answer."

Dave's fingers curled into fists. Kurt eyed them warily, but Dave just sat there, his breathing uneven. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "I'm here because my boyfriend couldn't fucking leave well enough alone. He wasn't supposed to  _be_  there. He was  _supposed_  to be at a wedding, but he loved his damn job too much and just had to chase the adrenaline. It was a car bomb, in Gaza. In fucking  _Gaza_."

Kurt swallowed. "Oh."

Dave swirled the remaining alcohol and downed it in one swallow. "I wanted to go with him to Israel, but he told me no. We were going to meet in Paris, but he never showed. That was three weeks ago. I didn't find out until two days ago that he'd written me a letter." He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a crumpled envelope, and set it on the bar. "His cameraman, Ari, brought it to me; he found it with Eitan's things, after. We were . . . well. Not exactly a secret, but it's not safe in a lot of the places we've been, and it's kind of hard to form attachments when you're gone a lot." He shrugged. "I guess Ari knew."

"You've been with him in a lot of places?" said Kurt. He wasn't sure what else to say. All of his questions felt like accusations, and Dave didn't need that from him right now.

"The first time was in Cairo. The last time was Istanbul. In between, maybe six or eight times." Dave closed his eyes. "No. I know exactly how many. It was eight times. We were together ten times total in two years."

"That doesn't sound like nearly enough."

"It wasn't. It isn't." Dave laughed bitterly. "But it's what we get, men like us. That's what he said."

Kurt wanted to tell him  _no, that's not true - you can have anything you want._  But the words stuck in his throat, and he had to change the subject. "I read your blog, until you stopped writing. It was wonderful. And awful."

"It was an awful time."

"And this isn't?"

"This is different. That time was shocking and upsetting. I've seen so much since then, and this?" Dave gestured to himself. "This is worse, because  _that_  was my innocence and  _this_  is my fucking  _heart_. I  _loved_  him. I loved him and I never told him, and he . . ." He tapped his finger on the envelope. "He was  _married_ , Kurt. He had three kids. Two boys and a girl.  _My Chava is my past_ , he told me the first time. Bullshit. She wasn't his past, she was his  _wife_. I loved him and I didn't even know him."

It was breaking Kurt's heart just listening to him, but the way Dave was slurring his words, he didn't think he was going to last much longer. "I think you should tell me what floor you're on, and let me pay your tab."

"It's covered," Dave muttered, waving his hand at the bar. He staggered to his feet, clutching the bar for support while he waited for Kurt to pick up his bag. When Kurt tried to take his arm, he snapped, "I can fucking  _walk."_

Kurt backed away, hands up. "Fine. I'll just be back here." He followed Dave's slow, lumbering form to the elevator and watched him weave in front of the buttons. "Making sure you don't fall on your ass."

Dave tried to reach out and press one, but finally let his arm fall back to his side.

"What floor?" Kurt asked gently.

"Third."

Kurt pressed the lighted 3 and moved a little closer to Dave. They didn't talk, but just before the doors opened on the third floor Dave reached over and squeezed Kurt's hand. Kurt squeezed back, letting go of some of his fear and worry with that brief contact.

When it took Dave three tries to get the key into the lock, Kurt shook his head, steadying his hand. "I'm guessing you drink about as often as I do."

"Prob'ly," he agreed.

Dave was shivering, and Kurt was sure it wasn't from cold. He surveyed the room, ignoring the perfectly styled Louis XVI drapes on the windows, and hustled Dave into the bathroom.

"Okay." Kurt took a deep breath, then began unbuttoning Dave's shirt as efficiently and impersonally as he could. "I think a shower, and then you need some sleep. And then we can talk some more." He estimated the distance to the door, Dave's current weight, and the likelihood Dave would deck him for what he was about to do. In the end, though, Dave was too off-balance to fight him very hard, and Kurt was an expert in getting too much alcohol  _out_  of someone who'd put too much into themselves too quickly. Dave barely had time to make a noise of surprise before Kurt had him over the commode, two long fingers down his throat. He grimaced as Dave emptied the contents of his stomach, and switched on the fan.

"You'll thank me in the morning," he promised Dave, rubbing his back.

Dave gripped the counter with one hand and glared reproachfully over his shoulder at Kurt, wiping his mouth, but Kurt just moved to the shower, figuring out the controls and letting the water run until it was almost scalding. Then he stared at Dave, one eyebrow raised in a question.

"What?" Dave snarled.

"I want to make sure you're not going to fall over and hit your head while you're getting undressed."

"You don't need to watch me strip. Jesus, Kurt, I'm not a fucking invalid."

"Get on with it, then. If you're not out of the shower in half an hour, I'm coming in after you."

Kurt waited long enough that Dave started muttering and struggling with his zipper. He edged backward out of the bathroom, adding, "Don't forget to brush your teeth," before shutting the door. If he didn't figure out the wifi soon, Blaine was really going to have a fit.

Dave emerged from the bathroom 25 minutes later, a towel around his waist. He looked tired, but his eyes were clearer than they'd been in the elevator. When Kurt tried to set his computer down and rise from the bed to help him, Dave waved him off.

"I'm fine." He rummaged in his suitcase, coming up with a handful of clothes, and vanished back into the bathroom long enough to change into a t-shirt and boxers.

Kurt sent a quick goodbye to Blaine and closed his laptop. He held the heavy brocade covers up and motioned for Dave to join him. "I won't bite."

Dave sat carefully on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around himself. "You don't have to get your own room," he said.

"I didn't even think about it," Kurt assured him. He had, but he hadn't figured out how to bring it up without it being awkward.

"I . . ." Dave began, then paused. He swallowed hard, and Kurt watched his back spasm. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"What, you think I'm going to fly to Paris and hide out in my own room, after you've been traveling the world for the last three years? Not likely." He patted the bed again, and this time Dave reluctantly crawled under the covers. Kurt felt a little silly, tucking him in like this, but it seemed to be what Dave needed. Dave's skin was warm through his t-shirt. "I'm just going to sit here and watch you sleep, and then I'll turn off the light and join you."

"Okay." Dave tugged the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again, shifting his gaze from Kurt to the expanse of bed between them. He coughed, and added gruffly, "You don't have to be  _so_  far away."

Kurt scooted over until he was close enough to touch Dave's leg with his own under the covers. The words were conveniently familiar. He tried to pretend he hadn't been waiting to hear them since Dave had joined him on the bed. He tried to imagine that this encounter was as perfectly platonic as he'd assumed it would be when he'd booked the ticket to Paris in the middle of the night. He tried, but he couldn't make things feel like all the  _other_  times they'd shared a bed. There was just too much history between them, and too many feelings still too close to the surface.

Dave's eyes were nearly closed again, collapsed on the bed on his back, but when Kurt put a tentative hand on his chest, he reached for it, holding it close against him, his breathing thick.

"I can't believe you actually came," he whispered. "That you're actually  _here."_

"I can never say no to you, you  _know_  that." He wanted to say something about not wanting Dave to be left a second time in Paris, but he had no idea how to frame that without making it sound hurtful, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. And, really, that was exactly what he was going to have to do tomorrow, and he didn't want to bring  _that_  up either. He just sat there, leaning in awkwardly and letting Dave clutch his hand, until Dave's grip loosened and he began to snore.

* * *

Kurt had no idea what time it was, only that the light coming in through the cracks in the curtains was from street lamps, not sunshine. Dave was talking in his sleep, moving restlessly under the blankets.

No, not talking. He was crying in his sleep.

Kurt didn't want to touch Dave; he knew, from the nights that Blaine got trapped in bad dreams, that sometimes touch was exactly the  _wrong_  thing to do. Instead, he set his voice hard and commanding. "Dave.  _Dave!"_

Dave's eyes opened, skittered around the room before catching Kurt. He didn't say anything, just blinked.

"You're okay," Kurt soothed. "You were having a nightmare.

"Kurt?" Dave blinked again, like he didn't know where he was. "What are you - wait. Oooohhhhhh," he groaned. "Oh, fuck. How much did I have to drink last night?"

Kurt couldn't help it, he laughed. "I think the fact that you can't remember should answer that question for you, tough guy."

"Shut up," Dave mumbled. He ran a hand over his face, squinting out the window at the street. Kurt watched Dave's face, noticing the ways in which he'd changed, the ways in which he was exactly the same. Eventually he looked back at Kurt, and Kurt looked away quickly, realizing just how close together they were.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered, and scooted backward against the wall a bit. "Do you remember any of last night?"

"Too much," Dave said. His voice was rough and his eyes were wet. "I think that's what I was dreaming about. Except, I was  _there_ , and I couldn't save him."

"You couldn't have saved him anyway." Kurt didn't want to think too hard about Dave being in all those terrifying places, surrounded by unfamiliar dangers.

Dave shook his head. "I know. I don't really think I could have. I just can't stop thinking about him. You'd think that sleep, at least, could be a time that was just for me, but I guess I don't get to have that."

"You will. It'll just take time." Kurt remembered nights after his mother died when he'd wake up to wet cheeks and his dad's soothing hand on his back. He tried putting his own hand there, on Dave's back, and realized Dave's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. "I had nightmares for over a year after my mom. Is it cliché for me to tell you that it gets better?"

Dave snorted. "Fuck you. I always  _hated_  that sentiment."

"Why? Didn't it get any better for you?"

"Parts of it did." Dave twisted the edge of the sheet in his hands. "Parts of it... stayed the same. I just learned to deal better. What I hated was the idea that growing up and getting away were the only ways to make things better. What if I hadn't wanted to leave Ohio? What if I hadn't been able to leave Ohio, or to come out, or any of that? You always told me there was no right way to be gay, but that idea of everything getting better once you're free or some shit like that?  _That_  sure made me feel like there was a right way."

"You think I have a license to tell you the right way to do anything? Don't you remember? I was the weird kid. You were the one who knew how to blend in, how to make things work. How to be -" He stopped, closing the words into his mouth.

"What?" Dave pressed.

"I don't want to fight with you."

"Fuck, Kurt, you think I want you to start censoring yourself now? Eitan's  _dead._  There's nothing you can say that's going to make me feel worse."

Kurt looked at his hands and sighed. "You knew how to be normal in a way I'll never be able to do."

"And it almost killed me, Kurt." The words came out furious, but there was anguish beneath the anger that made Kurt ache inside. "So don't hold me up like I'm some shining example of how to pass or be the perfect Midwestern jock or whatever. It almost killed me, and I hurt you, and no matter how much time has passed, I still can't forgive myself for what I did, not to myself and not to you. And I just keep running and running and waiting and hoping that I'll stop feeling like a fucking  _monster_. The closest I got, besides you, was Eitan, and now he's gone and I'm alone again and I'm so tired, Kurt." It was like he ran out of fuel by the end of his sentence. It took him five seconds to breathe afterward, and the exhale was almost a sob. "I'm just so tired."

Kurt slid his hand across the expanse of bed and twined his fingers with Dave's. Dave squeezed back even though his own hands were shaking. "I know. Maybe it's time to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Holding on to all that anger and hate. You're not the same guy I kissed at prom. You're not even the same guy who left a stack of library books on my kitchen counter, the last time you disappeared. Your work and your life have changed you. I forgave you a long time ago, David. It's time you forgave yourself."

Dave shook his head slowly, laughing to himself. "Kurt... nobody calls me that. I'm DJ now." His eyes were luminous in the dark. "Except Eitan. He called me  _my David._  And you know what? It doesn't feel bad from you. I think you see me clearly."

Kurt hummed and nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking about that, on the plane. Blaine - he doesn't really understand this." He waved his hand between them. "He doesn't understand this because he just sort of moves through his life, slipping into the places he can fit and making himself fit the places he can't. You and I aren't like that. You see me clearly, too."

"Yeah. I think I do." Dave squeezed Kurt's hand again. "And I would forgive myself, if I knew how, but I can't seem to figure that out. I don't even know what I'm running from anymore. I guess I feel like when I left Lima, the places I went were just places. There wasn't anything that belonged to me. I was a visitor, nothing more. I needed to figure out how I could make a difference." He sighed. "I still don't know how to do that."

"Blaine's moving to Texas for his PhD."

Dave snorted. "That's a non sequitur if I've ever heard one. What the hell, Kurt."

"It's a thematic comment. Blaine is moving to Texas for a PhD in psychology. He's going out into the world to make a difference and I'm like 's all-in-one Queer Eye. I make  _no_  difference, unless you're a middle-aged socialite with bad Botox. Which, neither of us are, so."

Now Dave was laughing outright. "I know there's going to be a point here somewhere, if I just keep listening..."

"Making a  _difference_ , Dave. There are lots of ways to do that, even if it's only for socialites. Well. Still maybe not then. But what you do  _does_  matter." He considered what Dave had said about not censoring himself, and he added, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "You make a difference to me."

"Talk about pithy sentiments." Dave sounded amused. That just made Kurt more determined to say what needed to be said. He needed Dave to  _understand._

"Look, just shut up." He tugged Dave around to face him, even though he could only see shadows of his face in the early morning light. "I have a pretty good life, I admit it. I'm living in a city I love, and I'm doing a job I like, and I have Blaine and my friends and my family. I'm not going to complain about that. But  _you_  do make a difference. Do you get it? When you left, you took a part of me with you. I'm not blaming you for that, but you have to know that affected me." He searched Dave's face, as if he could find the answers he needed just by looking. "I miss you, every single day. Why did you leave?"

"You really don't know?"

"Why would I know? I came home one day and you were just  _gone_."

"That was it, Kurt. That was why. What we were doing, the way I just showed up and made a place in your home, it felt way too good. But it wasn't ever going to be  _my_  home."

He wasn't making an accusation. He didn't even sound particularly hurt. It was like Dave thought what he was saying was just a  _fact._ Like there was no way he could have that. Kurt shook his head irritably. "You don't think it didn't feel good to me, too? You, being in that apartment, it felt more comfortable and easy than I ever expected."

"I know it did. I could just tell, and I was okay with that. And then your dad called and I answered. I didn't even  _think_  about it, Kurt. I answered your fucking phone like it  _was_  my home, and I talked to your dad like we were old friends, and I could almost see what that life would be like, if it were you and me instead of you and Blaine. But it's never going to  _be_  you and me, Kurt, because you're meant to be with Blaine. He's your boyfriend, and I can't give you the perfect gay life you always wanted because I'm not that fucking guy. I'm never going to be that guy, and I'm okay with that. I accepted that about myself a long time ago. The question, Kurt, is if  _you_  accept that about me?"

Everything Dave said, in that tired, reasonable voice, took away all of Kurt's responses. It was the same questions they were asking each other six years ago, and he still only had one answer. He leaned in and kissed Dave.

Dave immediately tried to pull away, but Kurt was prepared for that. He brought both hands up to touch his face, keeping him close.

"You're my best friend," Kurt said. "Still. After all this time." They were both already trembling. "Don't lie and tell me you don't want this."

Dave let out a sound that could have been a laugh and could have been an embarrassed groan before dropping his forehead to Kurt's shoulder.

"I spent years thinking you were going to be my first," he mumbled into Kurt's shirt.

"Was it Eitan?" Kurt asked, carefully.

"No. It was the bartender at my favorite local dive, when I was on assignment in Chile." Dave caught Kurt's eye. "I know you and Blaine have that . . . agreement. Have you ever? With anyone else beside him?"

Kurt shook his head. "No. I think . . ." he paused, wanting the words to be just right. "I think I've always been waiting for you."

Dave groaned again, this time with a clear note of desperation. His hands moved to clasp Kurt's biceps. "You'll always be a romantic, won't you?"

"I think I came out of the  _womb_  a romantic, so most likely, yeah. Sorry. But you know you love me anyway."

He meant it to be teasing, just another thing Dave could laugh off. But when Kurt looked at him again, he looked like a deer in headlights.

"Oh, shit."

"What?"

Dave swallowed hard. "I - I  _do_."

"I know," Kurt said softly. He brushed his fingers through Dave's hair. "I love you, too."

Dave clutched at him. "Kiss me again. Please."

"No running this time? Because . . ."

Dave's hand was warm and firm against his cheek. "I can't promise what tomorrow is going to look like. But right here? Right now? I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't really enough, but Kurt was through waiting. What he had, right here, was real. This time when he kissed Dave, he let him feel every bit of his pent-up desire, every frustration and abandonment and desperate aching worry he'd carried with him since they were boys. He needed Dave to feel all of it, needed to let it go once and for all. When the kiss concluded, he was sobbing against Dave's lips.

Dave held him close, after, one strong arm across Kurt's chest, his body warm and solid against Kurt's back.

"It's okay," Dave soothed him while he shook with unspent emotion. "I'm here."

* * *

Kurt was warm. He was warm and sated and a little sore, and when he opened his eyes, sun was streaming through the windows. He stretched, initially content until he realized that his limbs weren't touching Dave, but the empty expanse of the bed. He looked around the room, but Dave's suitcase, all his things, were gone.

His breath caught in his chest, and he fought against tears. "Damn you, Dave."

"Oh, you're awake."

Kurt's head jerked around at the entirely normal sound of Dave's voice. He was standing in the door to the bathroom, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth while he buttoned his pants. Kurt felt all the blood drain from his face.

"I thought you were gone," he said in a whisper. "I thought you'd left, and okay, you didn't, but - where's your bag?" He blinked at Dave's troubled expression, realizing the truth of it. "You  _are_  leaving."

Dave held up a finger and returned to the bathroom. Kurt listened to the water running, waiting while Dave took care of his mouthful of paste and his toothbrush. When he came back into the room, he was drying his hands on a plush-looking towel.

"Kurt, we're in Paris. I live in London, when I live anywhere at all. I have a place there, anyway. You live in New York. We're  _both_  leaving." He shook his head. "I don't know what else you expected."

Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing. But I thought we'd at least have a chance to figure out what this all means, now that we stopped being stubborn idiots about it."

"I don't think it means any more than it did before we did everything we did last night." Dave smiled, a little wistfully. "Or any less. I'm not saying it was wrong. I'm just saying... I don't know what I'm saying."

"I'm glad you don't think it was wrong. I guess . . ." Kurt hedged while he tried to find the right words. "I just assumed things would be a little easier once all the feelings were out in the open."

"I think it just got more complicated, and... that's okay? I mean, things have never been simple for us, have they?"

The glance Dave gave Kurt was loaded with fondness and longing. It made Kurt want to ask him to take his pants off and come back to bed. Instead, Kurt took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his irrational disappointment. "No. They never have."

Dave went to the closet and took a clean shirt off the hanger, digging in the front pocket of his suitcase for a tie. "So you're going to Texas?"

"Blaine's going to Texas. I haven't decided yet, whether I'm going with him or staying in New York."

They'd been fighting about it all winter, really, Blaine trying to convince Kurt that he could easily keep working for from Austin, or find something new entirely. Kurt was hesitant, mostly because New York fit him like a second skin and he didn't want to leave.

Dave nodded. "Yeah. If I give you my two cents will you hate me?"

"I'll never hate you, David."

"Okay, then... I think you should give it a try. Go for half a year, sublet your place. If you hate it, you have someplace to go back to. But you might like it. It might be what you guys need."

"What we need for  _what_?" Kurt stared quizzically at Dave, head tipped to the side.

"To help you figure out if you're in it for the long haul or not.  _If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere_ ," Dave sang.

"Not in Texas," Kurt said, but he was laughing.

"I think Texas isn't the point, but you might decide New York is where you want to be. You used to tell me that it was."

Kurt leaned his head on his knees as he watched Dave put on his tie. "I'm the romantic, remember? I'm trying not to make stupid decisions, no matter what my heart is telling me."

Dave paused, letting the ends of the tie drape against his chest. "Are you going to tell me what that is?"

Kurt sighed. "My heart is telling me to follow you to London."

Dave shook his head, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. He touched Kurt's bare knee. "Do you remember when I told you once that it wasn't the right time?"

"When I wanted to kiss you, senior year. I was so mad at you about that."

"This is the same thing. It's not time for us yet, Kurt. Not for what you want, what you deserve. If we're going to have that, we have to do it right. And right isn't following me to London."

Kurt made a face that made Dave laugh, but he could tell neither of them were feeling particularly okay about any of this. He let Dave pull him into an embrace.

"If you have to know," Dave told him, brushing Kurt's ear with his lips, "last night was amazing."

"I love you, David," Kurt said through suppressed tears.

"Yeah, I love you too." Dave's eyes were dry. He sat back and tied a neat half-windsor around his collar. Kurt tried not to feel self-conscious, but he'd never enjoyed being the only one not wearing clothes.

"If I go into the bathroom, will you be here when I come out?"

"Yes," Dave said seriously. "I promise."

He took his time showering, not because he was trying to avoid Dave, but because he wanted a clear head before he had to say goodbye again. When he came out, teeth clean and hair reasonably tidy, Dave was indeed still there.

This time, Dave let Kurt wind his arms around him and hold him close. He felt particularly attuned to the details of Dave's body, all the unique sensations and smells and sounds of him.

"I'm having this irrational feeling that I'll never see you again," he admitted. "Which is stupid, I guess."

Dave's face was solemn. "Maybe not given the circumstances. I guess you never really know. But I'll just tell you that I'm not planning on disappearing."

Kurt sighed. "Did you  _ever_  actually plan to do that?"

"Pretty much every time," he said. "But I'm willing to try to do things right, which would include not disappearing this time. I'll also say that scares the crap out of me."

"Yeah." Kurt smiled. "I suspected that was the case. Thank you for admitting it."

"Don't tell me you're not scared, too," Dave said, holding Kurt's gaze.

"I am. But I've been scared about us, about  _you_ , for a long time. I'm almost used to it by now."

Dave shifted from foot to foot, and Kurt could tell he was trying not to look at his watch.

"You have to go," Kurt said softly.

"I don't  _have_  to go." Dave sounded agonized. "But I think I should, because it's just going to get harder from here."

Kurt nodded. "Yeah." He held Dave's face in his hands. "Be safe. I love you."

That led them into another long kiss. It made Kurt's heart pound, Dave's touch, his close contact, knowing that both would be gone within minutes. He tried not to grasp for him, to let him go gracefully, but he couldn't help blurting, "Do you really think we can make this work?"

"Honestly? I don't know. But I think we owe it to ourselves to try."

That gave Kurt enough space to nod, step back, and let Dave go. He turned away, putting his hand on the wainscotting, trying to keep himself engaged in something that wasn't  _oh, my god, what am I doing._

There was a  _click,_ and when he turned back, the room was empty.

Only then did he allow himself to cry.

* * *

The plane ride home was completely awful, mostly because Kurt ended up sitting next to someone who'd clearly been smoking just before boarding the plane. He tried to keep his scarf over his nose, but the smell made him feel sick to his stomach, so he buried himself in constant music on his earbuds and kept his eyes on the clouds until it got too dark to see anymore.

Blaine had been remarkably gentle and understanding about Kurt's emotional state when they'd talked.  _Of course you're going to have a crisis,_  he'd said.  _Dave has always been an emotional trigger for you. He represents so many things about your past._

Kurt wanted to snap at him, to say,  _no, he's just Dave, and I'm hurting because I'm in love with him and I don't know when I'm going to see him again,_  but he knew Blaine tended to hide in his psychobabble when he was feeling vulnerable. Kurt wasn't going to put him on the defensive when he was just trying to be helpful.

By the time he reached JFK, Kurt was exhausted and grumpy and had the worst headache of his life. He was rude to the woman in customs and broke the strap on his favorite teal suitcase, and he couldn't even feel bad for giving everyone attitude. It felt completely justified, because - well, because it did, and he didn't need to explain his mood to anyone.

Finally he had his checked bag. All he had to do was get home, and he could collapse for a few hours before he had to get up for work. If he tried, he would probably be able to get a direct cab from that one company that gave discounts after midnight.

But when he made it out to the curb, intent on scanning the parked cabs for the right one, he saw  _Blaine_  waiting for him. He was holding a little neatly typed sign that said  _Need a ride, Kurt?_  and exactly the kind of loving, sympathetic expression that made Kurt drop his bag and burst into tears, right on the sidewalk.

Blaine crossed the space between them and wrapped Kurt in his arms. "Oh, honey. It's okay."

Blaine's body felt familiar and comforting and wrong all at the same time. Still, Kurt clung harder than was maybe appropriate in public, burying his face into Blaine's neck and trying not to hate him for being too small and compact and wearing the wrong cologne.

"You didn't have to come," he blubbered.

"Yes," Blaine said, touching his hair and holding him close, "yes, of course I did."

That set Kurt off again, hearing his own words to Dave echoed back at him, but Blaine didn't seem to mind. He never had objected to Kurt's irrational emotional states.

Blaine gathered up Kurt's things and took his hand, leading him across the street to where a town car was waiting. Kurt didn't even bother to complain about the cost. He just sank into the back seat, gloriously smell-free, and closed his eyes while Blaine and the driver put his bags into the trunk.

Blaine didn't say anything for a little while, and Kurt breathed in the darkness until his head wasn't pounding quite so hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Blaine.

"Thanks," he said. "For coming to get me, and for this." He gestured at the car interior.

Blaine shrugged, resting a hand on his knee. "Sometimes I do the right thing. I'll keep trying to figure out what that might be, okay?" He paused, then added, a little too casually, "I wasn't sure if you would actually come home this time, but I thought it was worth taking a chance to be here to meet you."

"Of course I came home. Where else would I go?"  _London_ , Kurt's heart sang out.  _London and Dave. Don't lie to Blaine about this._

"Wherever Dave was headed next, I figured. I mean, now that you guys have been together."

Kurt stilled his movements, not making eye contact with Blaine. Eventually Blaine sighed.

"I didn't think you would even know you were going to do it. But  _I_  knew. I mean, I knew you would eventually. If it didn't happen this time, it would have the next." He snuggled in closer to Kurt. "Was it... are you okay?"

Kurt leaned into Blaine's body. It felt like he was learning it all over again, even though it had only been a couple of days since they'd been together. "I don't know, honestly. I think I'll  _be_  okay, I just . . . don't know where I am right now."

He felt Blaine's nod, his curls brushing Kurt's cheek. "Is  _he_  okay? I mean, no, of course he's not okay, his boyfriend just died. But is he okay with  _this?_ "

"Better than he was with things in high school, at least. Which, I know that's not saying much, but..." He shook his head, feeling muddled and miserable and completely uncertain about what to do next. "He promised he wouldn't run this time, so I have to take him at his word on that."

"You always did take him at his word," said Blaine. He didn't sound angry, just a little sad.

That was apparently enough to inspire a fresh bout of tears. Blaine held him close while he cried, not asking any more questions, and although he put a few kisses on Kurt's cheek, Kurt could tell Blaine was trying to let him set the pace in regards to intimacy. When they got home, he let Kurt walk alone up to their loft, carrying all his bags and walking ahead of him up the stairs. Their home was filled with the scent of good coffee.

"I set the timer to brew about when I thought we'd be home," Blaine called from the other room, "but don't feel obligated if you'd rather just sleep. It's that Ethiopian light roast I picked up yesterday."

He sank down to sit at the table, resting his head on his arms. "Yeah, I think at this point, I doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight. Three hours, I don't know if it's worth it."

"It's worth it, Kurt." Blaine sat down across from him, holding his own empty mug. "I can wake you up in three hours."

"Why are you being so  _nice_  to me?" Kurt demanded. Blaine flinched a little, but Kurt thought it was more at his tone than the question.

"Because you've flown thousands of miles in the last three days, and you've been through the emotional wringer, and you're my boyfriend."

"Even though you weren't even sure if I was going to come home to you?" Kurt closed his eyes, wishing Blaine would look anywhere but at him. "What kind of an asshole do you think I am?"

He gave him a reproachful look. "Kurt. You've been in love with Dave for years, we all know it. I've accepted that."

Kurt nodded. "I guess... maybe I hadn't accepted it, until now. And I don't know what to do about it. I don't know what I  _want_  to do about it."

Blaine was silent for several long minutes. He walked to the counter, restlessly moving things around, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Kurt listened to the familiar sounds of Blaine, working things out in his head, and felt a rush of love for him.

"I know you don't want to move to Austin with me. Have you decided what you  _are_  going to do? Because I'm not going to  _make_  you come with me, but I also don't think that walking away from each other is the way to solve this, either."

Kurt opened his mouth, and what came out was: "I think I want to move to Paris."

Blaine laughed, blinking. "Wow. That's a choice C I wasn't expecting. 'None of the above.' So is that where Dave is?"

"No. He's in London, but I don't think he's planning to stay there long." He could feel his thoughts lengthening like a bolt of cloth under his hands as he spoke. "It felt good to be there. I could stay with , work from there just as easily. I think it could be good for me. For us, maybe. You and me."

Blaine looked like he was having trouble getting words out. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke. "I've already made the commitment to go to Austin. I can't just walk away from that, Kurt. It's my future."

"No, I get that. I'm not trying to say you shouldn't do that. But I think... I think I need to make a decision that's for me right now, in order to figure this out." He watched Blaine's face, trying to find something to hold on to. "I could go for the summer. See how it is, while you're getting settled in Austin. And if it's awful there by yourself, I can join you."

"I really think you might like Austin. I mean, I'm sure it'll feel provincial after Paris." Blaine twisted his hands in his lap. "Just . . ." He sighed, and for the first time Kurt could see fear in his expression. "Just don't decide not to come home, please. God, Kurt, I don't think I could handle that."

He wanted Blaine to tell him it was okay, that he wasn't hurting, but it was obvious that he was. He couldn't even feel relieved at Blaine's unspoken permission. He just nodded. "I promise. I'll come home."

_Just as soon as I figure out where that is._


	6. Chava

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude from Dave's point of view.

 

The flight from Paris to London wasn't long, but Dave was wrung out by the time he'd climbed the rickety stairs to his flat. He fumbled his keys, dropped the mail he'd tucked under his chin, and just gave up. He slid to the floor amidst the papers and cried. He knew he was still mourning Eitan, he would for a long time, but he was also mourning Kurt. He pulled out his phone and even went so far as to call Kurt's number up, his thumb hovering over the dial button, before remembering that he was an idiot and that Kurt was somewhere over the Atlantic ocean. Even if Kurt did want to talk to him after the way he'd left him in Paris, he wouldn't have that choice for at least another six hours.

Dave sighed, tipped his head back against the wall, and stretched his legs out. His right foot met resistance in the form of a yellow padded envelope, covered in air mail and customs stamps. He snagged the envelope with the toe of his shoe and dragged it through the rest of his mail to reach it. It was heavy in his hands, battered from travel and from being shoved into his tiny mailbox.

The return address was Tel Aviv.

Dave's heart stuttered in his chest and he blinked away tears, peering closer at the writing. It wasn't Eitan's hand, but Dave didn't really think too hard about whose writing it  _was_. If it was from Israel, it was from Eitan.

He tugged at the flap with trembling hands, pulled out something book-sized, wrapped in the pages of the Tuesday edition of Yedioth Ahronoth, and a loose piece of paper.

_Dear David-_

_You don't know me. Knowing my Eitan, you probably didn't even know I existed, but I know all about you. Eitan and I, we never had any secrets. We married young, before either of us really knew our own hearts, and we did love each other, in our own ways, all these years._

_I will miss him._

_I know you will, too._

_He loved you. He called you_ his American _. He always looked forward to seeing you, spending time with you. I wish you had been given more time together._

_But our Eitan, he loved the rush and the story more than any person or place; I suspect you know this, because you live in that world also._

_What you may not know, though, is that Eitan kept a journal religiously. All the words he never found the voice to say, he wrote. I've sent it to you, because over the last years, even when you were apart, he mostly wrote about you. He admired you for being secure in who you are, for your talent and your wonderful, kind heart. He always told me that you were going to get tired of the travel someday, that you would find your way home and do great and important things._

_Mourn him, David, but don't let his death be the thing that defines you. Live your life. Let_ that _be your legacy._

_If you ever find your way to Tel Aviv, the children and I would love to meet you._

_Always,_

_Chava Avraham_

Dave read the letter through a second time, slid it and the paper-wrapped journal into the envelope, and spent a half hour sorting through the rest of his mail. Once he had gotten all his things out of the hall and into his flat, he set it on the table and set to work getting back to his life.

* * *

The package from Chava taunted him every time Dave walked through the kitchen. He ignored it, instead threw himself back into his work like nothing had changed. But it stayed on his table. He couldn't bring himself to put it in the file cabinet.

The worst part was, somehow, everyone at work  _knew_. He felt their stares, heard their whispers. The day he returned to his desk after lunch and found a photocopied article with Eitan's byline at the top, he hid in the men's room and cried for fifteen minutes before he could face the afternoon. They were doubtless trying to be kind, but Dave had no use for that sort of kindness. Not about Eitan.

He could feel himself slipping, but there was nothing he could do except hold on as hard as he could to the things he could do: daily tasks, correspondence with his sources in Moscow and Beijing, and breathing in and out as often as he could remember. The stories he'd been dealing with before Eitan's death had been reassigned to other reporters.

On Friday, two weeks after returning from Paris, Dave was shutting his computer down when his boss and mentor, Adrian, passed by his desk with a gentle hand on Dave's shoulder and a whisper in his ear. "Come by my office before you go, DJ."

Dave's stomach flip-flopped, and when he knocked on the frame of Adrian's open door, his hands were sweating.

"Please don't fire me," he said in a rush as he stepped inside at Adrian's beckoning wave. "I know I'm a mess. I'll do better."

Adrian chuckled. "I'm not firing you. But I need to know what your plans are, going forward. If you want to continue traveling, doing this work. You wouldn't be the first to walk away, after the death of someone you cared about."

Dave wanted to insist that he wasn't going anywhere, but the words got trapped in his throat. He sank into the chair across from Adrian's desk and rested his head in his hands. "I have no idea," he said, staring at the worn carpet. "I just don't know, anymore."

"You don't have to feel stuck, doing this." He gestured at the window. "You have connections, DJ. You can move on to something else, and the news world would still be here if you decided to come back."

"I used to be good at math," Dave mumbled, but the memory was faded. He most definitely wasn't that boy anymore, the one who'd done Kurt's calculus homework. "I always thought maybe I'd be a teacher, but then I had to get away, and I kept running, and now-" he broke off, slumped back in his chair. "Now, I just don't know."

Adrian put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me call you a taxi. You don't need to put up with the Underground on a Friday night."

Dave had the cab driver stop at the liquor store on Compton on his way home. He picked up a bottle of Auslese Riesling, the cheapest he could find. It wasn't going to last long, anyway.

The yellow envelope was still on his table when he walked into the kitchen, but today he picked it up and set it aside while he made himself dinner. While he quick-chilled the wine in the freezer, he settled down at the kitchen table and called Kurt. He could hear him handling his phone as he picked up, and Dave imagined him plugging in his headphones.

"Are you on lunch break?" Dave asked. "I can wait until you get home if that'd be better."

Kurt sighed. "Lunch was my third coffee of the day, an apple, and half a chocolate chip muffin. No, I'm just waiting for the printer to finish giving me the stuff I need to edit over the weekend."

He couldn't help but smile. "Wish I could have shared the other half of that chocolate chip muffin with you."

"Yeah." Kurt's voice was fond. "We didn't get to share dessert, in Paris."

Dave snorted, reaching into the freezer for the wine. It was nicely chilled. "Some people  _would_  call that dessert."

He could hear Kurt's swallowed laughter, and papers shuffling. "I didn't know if I'd hear from you for a while."

"Yeah," Dave admitted. "I wasn't sure either." He loosened the cork in the bottle and poured himself a glass, taking a long drink before picking up the envelope. Carefully, he slid the contents out and set them on the table. "But I have this thing- I need to-  _shit,_  Kurt. Eitan's wife sent me his journal, and it's been staring at me for two weeks, and I know I need to read it, but I can't do it alone."

"Oh. Oh - David."

He flinched. "So you think you could, like, virtually hold my hand while I do this? I won't promise not to fall apart."

"Of course." There was a pause, and muffled voices on Kurt's end of the phone. "Should I be drinking wine, or something harder?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea while you're at work, Kurt." He ran his fingers over the cover of the journal, all the marks made by Eitan's pen, every smudge a piece of him.

"Isabelle is sending me home. It's not a far walk, and I could use the company, if you don't mind the city as a soundtrack."

"Well, in that case, you want to split this bottle of Riesling with me? It's about as sweet as any dessert we ever bought."

"Sounds good. I'm ready when you are."

Dave took a deep breath, flipped to the first page, and began.

" _10 August 2016._

_I met an American boy today. He should have been out of place here, but he wasn't. Just him and a camera, no interpreter, barely enough Arabic to say hello, but there is something about him. He's not one of the soft ones, the idealists, the ones who think they can come over to Hell and save the world._

_His name is David._

_I bought him a drink at the hotel. He's so skittish, but sweet. I'm sure I will dream about his hands, and his careful smile._

_As for the rebels, well, they are neither skittish nor sweet._

_29 September 2016_

_Been too busy, these last weeks. Too many crises in too many places. Crossed paths with my American again, twice. Once in Oman and once in Venice. And, I think I saw him in the airport in Athens, but I was going to miss my connection so I didn't stop. We exchanged numbers, in Venice. He is impossibly young and also older than his years._

_His smile was less careful, this time._

_14 October 2016_

_Cairo, days of riots. It's all routine, now. David is here, with me. With me, in my room, the way we have been every night since the first riots five days ago. He knows how to do this hard work; his Arabic is even passable, now. Sort of. But when we are done for the day, when the police have cleared the streets again and curfew is in force, it doesn't seem to matter what is happening outside._

_I don't even know how I found him, and we both know how hard it is to be together when this job is both our lives, but I feel like maybe this could mean something._

_31 December 2016_

_I haven't seen David in six weeks. Our assignments haven't crossed since Cairo, and I must be missing him terribly because Ari can't stop teasing me about my expression every time my phone rings. He calls me puppydog every time it's someone other than David._

_I am too old to moon over a boy like this._

_My Chava is also enjoying teasing me. I am so lucky that she and I came to an understanding. We do love each other, even if most people would consider our circumstances non-traditional. I want her to meet David, someday. I think they would get along well."_

Dave paused as a rectangle of photo paper fluttered out from between the pages and onto the ground. He stared at it, a photo of himself sitting on a beach chair, smiling self-consciously at the camera. The memories in his mind of that day hadn't included Eitan taking a snapshot of him, but he remembered the rest with vivid clarity.

"Dave?" Kurt said softly. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, it's... I'm all right." He cleared his throat and went on reading:

" _7 June 2017_

_David took pictures of me today, on the beach here in Athens. I have only a few of him. That is often the way of things for the photographer, that they are not photographed themselves._

_I think this one captures so much of him._

_It's been a good trip, this week together. I wish we got more time like this. Sometimes it feels like there's never enough time._

_15 December, 2017_

_Winter makes travel so unpredictable, but somehow we managed to connect in Marrakesh. It's been two months since we've seen each other, but that never matters. We always come back together easily, as if we've never been apart._

_In January, after Elijah's wedding and after David is back from South Africa, I'm going to take him to Paris. The City of Lights for the man who has lit up my heart again after so long._

_3 January 2018_

_Elijah's bride, Channa, is lovely. The ceremony was simple and beautiful, and reminded me a lot of the day Chava and I married. It has been a treat to be here with Chava and the children. They are growing so fast. Sarah's bat mitzvah is coming up in June. Perhaps I will bring David, then; he's been wanting to come to Israel with me. I'm sure the children will love him._

_The cease fire, always so delicate a state of affairs, has crumbled yet again. I'm leaving in the morning."_

Dave turned to read the next page, only the next page was empty. There was a small folded square of paper wedged into the spine, though. Dave tugged it free and opened it. "He left me a note," he said.

"Oh." Kurt gasped and sniffled. "Do you- you don't have to read it to me. It's personal, you should read it on your own."

"I don't know if I can do that," Dave said. "I mean, I don't think I can read it to you, but I also don't think I should be alone when I read it." He sighed heavily. "That makes  _no_  sense."

"How about," Kurt said carefully, "I sit here on the phone with you, and you read your letter, and I'll just be here if you need me."

_Dear David-_

_If you're reading this, then I'm gone. Chava has instructions to pass this along._

_I know you doubted my feelings and intentions. I know you thought that what we had was transitory, I could see it on your face every time we were together. But you need to know. I love you, my David. I love you, and I want you to be happy. I know it's easy for me to say, and hard for you to accept. But David, please. You deserve every happiness the world has to offer, and I wish this for you because these last two years_ you _have been my happiness._

_I love you._

_Eitan_

* * *

Monday morning, Dave got to work early and knocked on Adrian's door.

"I know what I want to do," he said in lieu of a  _good morning_. He set Eitan's journal on Adrian's desk. "I need to get permission from his wife, but I want to publish Eitan's journal, and I want to take the pictures to accompany his writing."

Adrian reached over and, after a nod from Dave, picked up the journal and leafed through it, reading with a thoughtful expression. "You think you've got enough distance from this to be objective?"

Dave laughed. "Not even a little bit. But it was my heart that drew me to the Middle East to begin with. I don't think there's any reason why I shouldn't let it guide me now."

Adrian steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "Write me up a proposal. Where you want to go, what you want to photograph." He stared at the battered cover of the journal. "Every major conflict of the last few years, he was there, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. That's why I thought- I  _know_  it would be meaningful. His articles, they tell one story, but this - this is him. His life's story."

"And yours, too."

Dave shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I have to show it."

He stayed up until past two in the morning writing the proposal. He knew before he pressed Send that Adrian would say yes.


	7. 2021

**2021**

Kurt spun through the tiny kitchen in their flat, careful not to spill hot coffee on his arm. He set the cup down next to Blaine. "Coffee on your left," he said, tucking his lips close to Blaine's ear and talking loud enough for Blaine to hear him over the music from his headphones.

Blaine nodded, but kept his attention on the words filling his laptop screen. A bright orange sticky note on the keyboard announced in bold Sharpie scribbles that Blaine had 7 days left to finish the revisions on his dissertation. He'd barely spoken two words to Kurt in over a week, and Kurt had done every bit of the cooking and housework during that week, but there was no way Kurt was going to complain about it. Not when Blaine was finally,  _finally_  so close to being done.

Kurt tugged one earbud out of Blaine's ear. "I'll be home by six, and I'll bring dinner and wine if you want."

" _Please_ ," Blaine groaned. "This is the section that Stephen said needed the most work, and it's killing me already. I could stand to get hammered tonight."

"Red or white?"

"Red. And white."

Kurt snickered to himself. "You got it. Have a productive day." He waited for a goodbye, but Blaine was already plugged back into his music, his fingers flying on his keyboard.

Even though he'd made Blaine a coffee, Kurt stopped for his own  _cafe au lait_  and  _pain au chocolate_ , his standard Friday treat. He was just leaving the bakery when his phone started ringing.  _"Oui, allô. C'est_  Kurt Hummel."

" _Bonjour,_  Kurt Hummel." Dave's voice was echoey. "I'm not even going to try to massacre any more  _francais_."

Kurt rolled his eyes and settled in at one of the outdoor cafe tables to talk to Dave and people-watch. "You're early this week."

"I didn't want to miss you. I'm sitting in the terminal at Heathrow waiting to board."

"Of course you are. And where is the destination today? Don't tell me his mentor's name's giving you a vacation again so soon."

"Moscow. There's a rumor that that anti-gay law is finally going to get overturned."

Kurt sucked in a breath. He knew Dave had witnessed plenty of violence in his travels, but he never could get used to the idea of Dave being in danger. "Be careful, please. All I hear is how unstable things still are. I never know how much to believe."

"Things are always unstable. I'll be fine. How's Blaine?"

"Still ABD. But really, really  _actually_  almost done now." He took a bite of his chocolate pastry. "Which means next month, at the soonest, but it still  _feels_  good to see him wrapping things up. You'd think they would let him submit it digitally, but no, they still want an enormous huge printout on paper."

"Will he have to go back to Austin for his defense?"

Kurt nodded, then remembered that Dave couldn't see him. "Yeah. I think we might make a trip out of it, stop off in Lima to see the fam. Puck's having another baby, and Sam and Tina are getting married at the end of the summer, so there are lots of people to see and catch up with."

"Jesus. I can't believe you even talk to these people anymore. Puck's married?"

"He's ' _committed, asshole_ ,' but not married. She's sweet. She teaches with Sam. Puck's a great dad." It wasn't hard to say that, even though it had been almost three years since he'd even seen Puck and Leah. "I think he likes being a dad more than anybody else I know."

"Not like you're surrounded by people with rugrats or anything. You and your high-society fashion soirees and weekends at the dance club."

"The club isn't my scene and you fucking know it," Kurt said angrily before sighing. "Sorry. You don't deserve the anger that's meant for someone else."

"I can take it." Dave's voice was mild. Kurt could hear the loudspeaker announcing another flight, this time in two languages other than English. "So how are you and Blaine going to celebrate Dr. Anderson's completion, if not at the club?"

"I'm sure we'll find a way," Kurt says, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Lots of things have been neglected this last year. It'll be good to have some normalcy back."

"One can always hope. We're boarding; I should probably go. But I'll call you next week, all right? I might be back in London by then, if things go as planned."

"All right." Kurt sighed. "Be safe, okay?"

"You know I can't promise that."

Kurt closed his eyes and remembered Dave, drunk and mourning. "I know."

They seldom used the words  _I love you,_  or anything that sounded like that, not because either of them didn't feel it but because it didn't need to be said. But Kurt still felt the need to ask Dave to be safe.  _Don't disappear,_  he wanted to say.  _Stay in my life._ Instead, he set his phone down on the table and picked at the remainder of his pastry, trying to distract himself from the images of Dave in an unfamiliar city. Of course Dave could take care of himself. Everything would be okay.

* * *

Kurt told his dad he didn't need to meet them at the airport when they flew back from Austin, but he insisted. He was even holding a  _Congrats, Grad!_  balloon when he and Blaine came through security into the baggage claim. It made Blaine laugh and Kurt hide his face in embarrassment.

"I don't get too many chances to be the proud dad anymore," he said, hugging both of them. "Just give your old man a break, huh? And what's a  _defense_ , anyway? Did they come at you with swords or something?"

Blaine laughed heartily. "I wish. That might have been easier. I used to be pretty good, when I took fencing lessons. They basically asked me every question they could think of about my dissertation, about my research. I had to prove that I'd actually read the source material, and stuff like that. It was tedious, but it's done now."

"Doctor Anderson." Burt looked him up and down. "You don't look any different to me. But, then, neither did I after I took the oath of office, and people started calling me Senator Hummel. This'll be just as weird for you, I'm sure. Now come on, let's get your bags; Carole's made every food in the universe for the three of you."

"Good," Blaine said, grabbing Kurt's hand and following Burt through the crowd. "Airport food sucks, and I'm  _starving_."

* * *

Kurt barely made it through the door of the house before Finn grabbed him and wrapped him up in a bear hug.

"Hey, little brother," Finn whispered in his ear.

"Can't. Breathe." Kurt gasped out through laughter and the strength of Finn's arms crushing his diaphragm. Finn let go and stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I just  _missed_ you."

Kurt straightened his t-shirt. "It's okay. I missed you too, Finn."

Being in the house, settling into his old bedroom with Blaine, made him realize how true that was. He actually found himself feeling nostalgic for Lima. Carole's cooking was nothing at all like the food he was used to eating, and it tasted delicious. The five of them sat around the table for most of the evening.

"How's the world of fashion in Paris, Kurt?" Carole asked, sipping her coffee. "I really don't understand most of what I see people wearing in magazines these days. It barely looks like clothing to me."

"It's just part of the pageantry. Vogue in Paris is different from Vogue in New York, but it's all a fantasy."

Blaine was smiling at him. "It's nice to come home from the university and escape into that world at night. I don't know what I would have done without Kurt to keep my life from becoming nothing but writing and research."

"It's nice to be back in Lima for a few days," Kurt said. He was pretty sure if he tried to talk about their life in Paris, he would end up saying something he would regret later. "A chance to catch up with old friends."

Burt reached across the table and snagged a cookie from the plate in front of Carole. "Speaking of old friends, I ran into Paul Karofsky at Ray's a few weeks back. He said that David is quite the world traveler. Apparently he's based in London. Do you two still keep in touch?"

Kurt twisted his napkin between his fingers. "We talk," he said. "We haven't seen each other in a few years, though. He's a photographer for the BBC Magazine."

Blaine turned to Finn. "Did you find a place you like in midtown, Finn?"

Finn shook his head. "Not yet. I'll keep looking, though. Chicago's expensive on a social worker's salary. I guess maybe I'm being too picky, but I don't want to live in a walk-up, and I want a better view than an alley or a brick wall."

Kurt tuned out the talk about apartments. He was grateful to Blaine for steering the conversation away from Dave, but he was a little annoyed because it felt like Blaine had rushed to do so for his  _own_  comfort rather than Kurt's. Dave was never going to be an easy topic between them; Kurt was still (and probably always going to be, if he was honest) protective of his friendship with Dave. He didn't want it, or the stress it caused with Blaine, to be aired out in front of his whole family.

He started paying attention again when his dad brought up one of the bills he was going to co-sponsor once the summer recess was over, but the damage was done. He couldn't get Dave or Blaine out of his head. When Carole asked if anyone would like dessert, he made some excuse about being tired and went upstairs to his old room.

Blaine, when he came to join him later, was careful and quiet.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his back turned to Kurt as he rummaged in his suitcase for a sleep shirt. "I didn't mean to cut you off about Dave, but you looked uncomfortable."

"It was fine," Kurt told him, and even though it wasn't a lie, the bitterness of untruth stung in his throat. "It's just, I don't think anyone really understands Dave and me being friends. I didn't feel like explaining it again."

The words he wanted to say, the questions he wanted to ask Blaine -  _does it make you uncomfortable? are you threatened by him? why can't_ you _of all people understand? -_ got clogged in his brain and instead of asking them, he stayed silent.

He brushed his teeth and crawled into clean crisp sheets that smelled vaguely of the cedar chest. It was odd, being in the room that used to be his. It was even more odd being there with Blaine, and some seventeen year old part of his brain was a little worried that he'd still get in trouble for having a boy in his bed.

When Blaine crawled in next to him, disturbing the little pocket of warmth Kurt had created for himself, he pretended he was already asleep.

* * *

In a way, Kurt wasn't surprised to find Finn sitting at the kitchen table at two in the morning, waiting with an empty mug in front of him.

"You still make it better than I do," he said.

Kurt yawned, rubbing his eyes. "That's because I actually stand there and stir it, so it doesn't burn on the bottom of the pan."

"I can be your cheerleader while you stir." Finn followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while Kurt rummaged in the fridge. "So what's on your mind?"

"Too many things. Why do you ask?"

"I just figured there would be questions. You know, things left unsaid at dinner?"

Kurt set the milk down on the counter and sighed. "Leave it to you to be intuitive. Did it ever occur to you that I don't  _want_  to talk about the stuff that goes unsaid?"

Finn scratched his head, looking uncertain. "I... was talking about me. You have something to tell me, too?"

"Oh." A wave of uneasiness came over him. "What is it? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. You know, life's complicated, it's hard sometimes being alone so far from mom and Burt and everybody, but... yeah, I'm good. Happy." He paused. "Do you remember back in high school, how Blaine put on that prom for you? He organized everything so it was super gay-friendly."

That was the last thing Kurt wanted to think about, the way things had been so strained between him and Dave that night. He busied himself with setting the temperature on the stove. "Of course I remember."

"Something happened that night."

"Yeah. You were there when it happened. Me and David on the practice field. But I just don't think I can face telling Dad about that. It's too complicated."

"Telling him about what?"

"David. He's..." Kurt glanced at him. "You promise you won't tell anybody?"

"Kurt, I have no idea what you're talking about, but I promise, I can keep a secret." Finn let out a bitter laugh. "Whatever it is. You and Dave? He left town that night, right?"

"Yes, but since then we've been... close. Friends, for a long time. Years. And then more than friends. His lover died and I went to Paris to see him, and we..."

Finn didn't look shocked. He was grinning. "Really? You, Kurt? Does Blaine know?"

"Of course Blaine knows," he snapped. "You think I could cheat on Blaine, after what happened with that boy in high school? Blaine's been encouraging us all along."

"Oh, yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "The three of you?"

" _No!"_  Kurt protested. "God.  _No._  It's just... sometimes. Special occasions, and... he's my friend, and... do we  _really_  have to talk about this?"

"Hey, I'm just asking about my brother's life," Finn said, holding up both hands in defense. "You don't have to tell me, but I want to know. It's not such a big deal. I mean, check out what Jake's doing with his foursome."

Kurt blinked. "His... what?"

"You didn't hear about this? He and Marley and Ryder and Unique. It took them a while to figure it out, but they've been together three, maybe four years now. They're even having a baby. They're  _happy_ , man." He side-eyed Kurt. "And you? Are  _you_  happy?"

"Sure," Kurt said, letting the easy, familiar lie slide off his tongue. He didn't even think about it anymore. Of course he was happy. He had no reason to be  _unhappy_.

"Hey." Finn's voice was sharp. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" Kurt insisted, stirring the milk with enough force to splash hot droplets on the tender skin on the inside of his arm. "Shit!" he hissed, and wiped his arm across the front of his T-shirt. "I'm not lying," he said again, softer. "How can it be a lie when I don't even know what the truth is?"

"So what's going on?"

Kurt turned off the heat under the pan and carefully poured milk into two mugs. He waited until they both had the mugs in their hands to even try putting words to his feelings. "I love Blaine. I do. But this year, with his dissertation, we're so distant. Disconnected. I don't even know what I want, where I want to go, if I . . ." he paused, felt his heart pound. The words were right there, the thoughts he hadn't let himself explore. Saying them would make them real. He closed his eyes. "I don't know if I want to stay with him or not."

Finn nodded sympathetically. "Did he tell you what he wanted, now that he's done? Is he applying for positions?"

Kurt shook his head. "We haven't talked about it at all. Not a word."

"Well, what do you think he wants? You guys are going to move to wherever his job is, right? Isn't that how it works with academics? Santana ended up following Britt to Stanford."

Kurt sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say that Blaine wants a job, and someone who will love him without having half his heart caught up in someone else. And he wants someone who doesn't mind the clubs or the boys. He  _deserves_  that. I just don't know if I'm the one who can give it to him anymore."

"I'm sorry it's been hard," Finn said, hugging him tight, then leaning back to look at him. "But when I brought up prom night, you and Dave wasn't actually where I was going. I guess more than one thing happened that night."

"What happened?"

"I told Puck I was thinking about joining the Army."

"You  _what?"_  Kurt couldn't help it; he laughed. "You, in the Army?"

"I know, I know. Don't judge me, I was freaking out, I didn't know what to do. Puck got totally pissed when I told him, which is I guess what I wanted. I wanted him to tell me not to go."

"He must have."

Finn smiled ruefully. "Yeah, it was a pretty big mess. I told him I was in love with him."

Kurt set his mug down on the stove and stared at Finn. Finn laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head.

"He didn't take it very well. Kind of stopped talking to me for a while. But it was a big enough deal that I decided I couldn't follow Rach to New York. I had to figure out who I was."

"You're gay?" Kurt said, incredulous.

"I'm bi," Finn clarified. "Which, I'll tell you, is kind of a lonely situation for a guy, even in a city as big as Chicago. I end up with a lot of guys telling me thanks but no thanks when they find out I still date women. There's this stereotype..." He trailed off, blushing. "Okay, I probably don't need to educate you."

"I don't know, Finn. You might have to." Kurt touched Finn's arm in amazement. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about  _any_  of this. You know I would have been fine with it, right?"

"I know. I just wanted to tell you in person. And after you went to New York, I barely saw you at all. It took me a while before I was comfortable with myself."

He led Kurt over to the table, bearing his mug of now-lukewarm milk. They sat across from one another, Kurt looking at Finn with new eyes. Actually, he barely looked any different from he had ten years ago.

"And you and Puck, you're still friends. I know you are - I mean, you're here, after all. I take it he got over himself?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "You could say that. You might remember he came back from L.A. with Jake and found me at college? We pretty much lived together for a while."

"Oh my god." Kurt put a hand to his mouth. "You mean, while you were in that fraternity, the two of you...?"

"They knew. Everybody at college knew about us. Puck was still banging every chick that came around, and there we were... well."

"Fucking each other's brains out?" Kurt said dryly. Finn smothered the noise that came out of his mouth.

"Are you  _trying_  to make me wake everybody up?" He sighed. "But, yeah, pretty much. And then he met Leah, and eventually he stopped dating other girls, and then he came to me and said he had to stop seeing me too. So I transferred to DePaul."

"That's why you left Lima?"

"Yeah. And I don't come back much. I haven't been home since Burt's election night in 2018. I think Mom and Burt understand."

Kurt was surprised yet again. "She knows about you guys? You're out to Carole and Dad? God, I feel so out of the loop."

"Don't feel bad. I haven't told anybody else at home. But I wasn't going to miss Sam and Tina's wedding just because I'm..." He shrugged halfheartedly. "It's stupid, but... I never got over him. And here he is with three kids, and... Leah's great, but I hate that it's not me, doing that with him."

"Oh, Finn," Kurt whispered. Finn waved an impatient hand.

"I'm okay. I've been dealing with it this long. But believe me when I say you really need to figure out what you want, and  _don't_  want, with Blaine."

They put their empty mugs in the sink, and Kurt took Finn into one more hug. "Thanks for the milk. And for talking to me about everything. I really want to hear about your adventures in Chicago's bi-unfriendly community."

He laughed. "It's not as bad as all that. I've dated some really nice guys, and girls. But none of them were what I wanted."

Kurt nodded. "Yeah. I think I can understand that."

Going back to bed seemed almost impossible after that, but Kurt said good night anyway and went upstairs to sit on his window seat, looking out over the wild growth of Carole's garden. Blaine didn't stir. After a few minutes of restless wakefulness, he found his phone and sent a text.

_I don't even know what time it is where you are, or if you're awake, or in an area with a signal, but I could use a hug._

The response came relatively quickly.  _Bangladesh. Twelve hour difference, so it's afternoon here. Do you want me to call you?_

 _Can't._  He found himself on the edge of tears, and struggled to keep them under control.  _I'll be okay. You'll never guess who just came out to me._

_I can't even remember everybody's name. Do I get a hint?_

_You spotted me with him in the choir room junior year, teaching him how to dance for his mother's wedding._

_Finn?_  came Dave's response, with two question marks.  _No shit. I always wondered about him and Puck._

_Well, it came as a complete surprise to me, considering he rebuffed all my advances in high school._

_There's no accounting for taste._

Kurt smiled at the phone, luminescent in the darkness.  _You're making me blush._  He hesitated before adding,  _I told him about us._

Dave's next reply was longer to come.  _How did he take that news?_

_My brother is a lot more open minded than a lot of people. I think he was actually happy for us._

Kurt paused with the phone in his hand, staring at the waiting prompt. He wondered what would happen if he typed the words  _I'm thinking about leaving Blaine_  and pressed Send. His fingers stayed where they were. Eventually he said,  _I'm going to try to go back to sleep._

_I'm on location tonight, but I'll be around tomorrow morning if you want to find me after dinner._

_I'll do that. Be safe._

_I'll try. Shubhoratri, Kurt._

He could only guess it was something like "goodbye" or "take care" in whatever language was spoken in Bangladesh. For all Kurt knew, Dave might be tossing insults at him. He left the phone on the window seat and returned to his side of the bed, crawling in under the covers and letting Blaine wind his arms around him in his sleep.

* * *

"Kurt Hummel!" a voice called from under the tent that all but filled Tina's parents' backyard. "Come over here and give Unique a hug."

Kurt picked his way carefully around tent stakes and string to where Unique was standing beside the bar, a half-drunk flute of champagne in one hand and her other hand clasped in Jake's. He hugged them both, glancing around. "Where are the other two?"

"So you've heard. I've lost track of who knows and who doesn't. Although the gaping mouths and enormous eyes are a dead giveaway." She looked nothing but happy, calmly gesturing at the house. "Ryder's the one with an iron stomach. Poor Marley. Everyone says the morning sickness will get better, but considering so far it's been more like all day sickness, I'm not holding my breath."

Kurt glanced back and forth between the two of them, biting his lip, and Jake laughed. "You might as well ask. Everybody else does."

"Um... okay? So who's the -"

"We're pretty sure it's Ryder." He shrugged. "Maybe we'll be able to tell when he's born -"

"Or she," Unique interjected.

"- or she, and maybe we won't."

Kurt nodded. "I admit I was a little surprised when Finn told me, but I really am happy for you guys."

"We'll take  _a little surprised_  over  _get away, we never want to see you again."_  Unique's words were mild, but Jake's arm came around her shoulder and held on. "So far the balance is about fifty-fifty. Not too many people who  _don't_  have an opinion about this one. Thankfully, Sam and Tina have been completely, fiercely on our side."

Kurt laughed. "You should send Tina after the haters. She's always been beyond amazing at taking care of herself and the people she loves."

Unique smiled in wistful consideration. "That would be a sight to behold."

"Have you heard the story about the time she convinced Figgins that she and her dad were really vampires?"

"No." Unique shook her head and was about to say something else when Blaine appeared at Kurt's side.

"T sent me to find you," Blaine said into his ear, giving a little wave to Jake and Unique. "She's having a wardrobe malfunction."

Kurt shook his head. "I  _told_  her that yellow dress was all wrong, but would she listen to me? No.  _I just want to be comfortable, Kurt_. It was worse than prom dress shopping, I  _swear_." He kissed Blaine's cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He left Blaine talking with the others and wound his way through the caterers in the kitchen and pockets of Cohens, Changs, and Evanses in the living room, up the familiar stairway to Tina's second floor bedroom. Tina flung her door open at the sound of his steps. "Thank  _god_. You were right, Kurt. The yellow dress is  _horrible_. I don't know what I was thinking. And I don't have a lot of other options." Her wedding dress was draped over the back of her desk chair, and she was in ratty sweatpants and a faded green Dartmouth T-shirt.

"It may be a casual backyard reception, but you  _can't_  go down in that. So let's see." Kurt thumbed through the closet, which was largely full of high school fashions. Way at the back, though, he found a fairly simple sleeveless blue shift dress, cotton-linen blend with darker blue embroidery snaking along the hem and around the collar. "Does this still fit?" he asked, pressing it into her hands.

"Probably." Tina shrugged at him. "Sam makes me go running with him. If this doesn't work, I'll have to suck it up and borrow something from my mom."

While she changed, Kurt kept his eyes on the pictures all over Tina's room: the original six members of Glee Club, she and Mike at prom, standing between her parents at her graduations from McKinley and Brown, sitting on the edge of the stage at McKinley with Blaine and Sam during their senior year.

"It's so strange, the ways we all keep coming back together," he said. "You and Blaine, Sam and Mercedes... she didn't even come to the wedding, did she?"

"I think it was just too hard for her. Not that I blame her." She stepped into the dress and Kurt moved forward to zip up the back.

"Nobody's at fault, though. Things change.  _People_  change." He pulled the zipper up and turned her around. "You look beautiful."

"Don't think you can hide from  _me_ , Kurt. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He pushed the lie out, because he and Tina weren't close like they used to be and anyway, she was more Blaine's friend than his. "Really. Things are good."

 _God_ , how he wanted to just tell someone so it didn't feel like he was carrying an awful burden, but he was scared. Saying the words, letting his thoughts out into the world, would make his idea real, and he wasn't ready yet. Besides, who was he going to tell? He didn't find friends wherever he went like Blaine did; it had  _never_  been easy for him to open up to people.

He put on a brave smile. "Anything else I can do?"

"You could take Preston out. He's going insane in his kennel, with all these people here."

"I can do that. I'm sure Blaine wants to see him." He gave her one more hug. "Don't hide up here all afternoon, okay? Or I'll send Blaine up to find you."

Preston was whimpering when Kurt got back down to the kitchen. He took the leash that was on top of the kennel and opened the door. "Hey, Preston. Hey, boy." Kurt held his hand out for the dog to sniff. "We're going to go out and see your dad. I hope you remember him. I think he'll be sad if you don't." He clipped the leash to Preston's collar and led him around the caterers and out into the yard.

Blaine was leaning against the bar with a beer, talking with Sam. Finn was lingering along the edge of the grass. Kurt joined him, letting Preston sniff at the grass before taking him over to Finn.

"You okay?" Kurt asked gently.

"Peachy," Finn replied. "I didn't realize that distance doesn't always make the heart grow fonder." Kurt followed Finn's gaze to the dance floor, where Puck was holding hands and dancing a careful Ring around the Rosie with his daughter.

"Is this about  _him_  or about  _you_?"

Finn shrugged. "Probably me. I think he and I would be fine, but me and Lima are definitely  _not_  fine. How can you stand being here without feeling like this town is going to smother you?"

Kurt smiled wistfully. "I don't know. It looks pretty good to me. It is  _home_ , you know? And it would be such a good place to raise a family."

"No." Finn shook his head. "No. This is  _not_  a good place to raise a family. Do you suddenly not remember what it was like for you, here? Shit, Kurt. You deserve so much better than Lima."

Kurt squatted down and scratched Preston's head, between his ears. "But what if I end up with no place else to go?" It was the closest he could get to admitting the thoughts that had been plaguing him during the trip.

"Then you'll come stay with me in Chicago. I have a pull out couch, I cook a pretty decent macaroni and cheese, and I'm pretty much celibate, so. No worries about interrupting anything."

Kurt snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."

Carole sidled up beside the two of them, holding a tiny bundled blanket in her arms. She looked like she might cry any moment. "Have you seen her yet, Finn?" She tucked back the corner of the blanket to reveal a sleeping pink-faced baby.

Finn's grin looked genuine. "Which one is this?"

"This is Cleo. Sunny is teaching her Uncle Jake a thing or two about infants. I hear he needs the practice!" She held out the bundle to Finn, and he took it awkwardly. "You could use some of that, too."

"Um, okay?" He gave Kurt an  _oh god save me_  look, and Kurt smiled, rescuing the baby from Finn's hands.

"Here. I'll trade you - Preston for Cleo."

"Thanks, man." Finn stared down into Preston's excited eyes. "Whaddaya think, boy. Wanna go see Blaine?"

Kurt watched them go, and held Cleo close to him, rubbing her soft blanket between his fingers and humming to her under his breath. Her weight in his arms was an unexpected comfort and a sadness all at the same time. He suddenly felt frantic, and he needed a few minutes to collect himself. He flagged Unique down and handed her the baby.

"Auntie Unique needs the practice too," he cooed to Cleo, and Unique just scoffed at him as she danced away, rocking the baby like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was quiet enough behind the deck that Kurt took his phone out of his pocket and sent Dave a text.  _Tina got perfect weather for her reception._

 _It's monsoon season here,_  Dave replied.  _The rain is strong enough to knock you over sometimes._

Kurt was about to reply that he was glad to be in Lima for once when a voice from above startled him. "And who's...  _Dave,_  hmm?"

He looked up to see Santana leaning on the edge of the railing, peering at the name listed at the top of his phone. He quickly tucked it close to his chest, even though it was too late. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look at other people's screens, Santana?"

"All the time. And you? Aren't you practically a married man, Kurt? Since when do you skulk around sending texts to other men?"

"That's Blaine's job," he muttered, but Santana's eyes were already growing wide. She hurried down the stairs to the grass.

"That wouldn't be Dave  _Karofsky,_  would it? But, no, he's going by DJ these days, isn't he? At least that's what his byline would indicate." Somehow she managed to reach out and snag his phone, ignoring Kurt's protestations. "Jesus, Kurt. It is Dave. What the hell?"

"We're friends. Would you give that back?" He glared at her. "I don't think I owe you an explanation."

She was typing quickly. "Only as far as I know, you're the only one he's still talking to. He practically vanished after he went to Thurston."

"World traveler, international student of nations affected by genocide, photographer, blogger, you're welcome." He reached again, but she evaded his hands. "Santana!"

"Hang on, I'm waiting for his reply. So is that rumor I heard about what happened between you guys true?"

"Probably not. We both lead remarkably boring lives." He winced as she laughed at what she was reading. "Do I want to know what that was about?"

She tossed the phone back so suddenly that he almost dropped it. "If you're that worried about what he might say, I think the rumors  _must_  be true."

Santana had said  _So what does Fancy have that I don't have?_ , to which Dave had replied,  _You want me to write you a list?_  and then added,  _How PG do I have to be?_

 _That was Santana,_  he told Dave.  _She's far too nosy for her own good._

 _Ah,_  said Dave.  _Not very PG, then._

"At least text me his number," she said, waving Kurt's threatening motions away. "Let me harass him directly."

"Fine. Whatever."

 _She's just as impossible as she was ten years ago,_  Kurt texted.

 _So are you,_  Dave pointed out.

Once the tables had been cleared of everything but dessert plates and the DJ switched from instrumental mealtime music to dance hits and retro pop, Kurt appropriated a second chair and set his feet on it, leaning back a little to watch everyone dance in comfort. He was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve and a small girl climbing onto his lap.

"Hewwo," she said seriously. "You're Kurt. My daddy said that you know the  _Beyonce_  dance."

"I do know the Beyonce dance, but I don't know your name." He looked into her wide eyes, exactly like Puck's. "Let me think. You're much too big to be Sunny, and I held Cleo earlier. So you must be . . . Savannah!"

"Yes! Sunny and Cweo are  _babies_  and I'm  _three_!" She held up three fingers with grave seriousness. "Wiww you teach me the dance?"

Savannah was a good student for a preschooler. She copied his every move, aside from collapsing in giggles on the grass instead of slapping her butt. Instead she squealed  _"butt! butt!"_ and got grass stains on the knees of her white tights. After about 45 minutes, she was laughing more than she was dancing.

Kurt scooped her up and sat with her, turning her so she could watch Puck and Leah and  _Uncow Jake_  dance. He ran his hand gently over her dark curls, felt her slightly sticky hand rubbing along the back of his arm until her motion slowed and then stopped and her breathing was slow and deep.

"Shhhh," he whispered when Finn dropped into the chair next to him. "She's sleeping."

"You look good with a kid. It suits you."

The comment inspired another wave of wistful solace. He rested his cheek on her hair.

"What do you really want, Kurt?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told me yesterday you didn't know what Blaine wanted. Well, what about you? What do  _you_  want?"

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in Savannah's little girl scent: baby shampoo, soap, and the sticky-sweet remnants of cake and frosting. "I want this," he said, softly. "I want a family and a home and to stop feeling so damn lonely."

Finn put a hand on Kurt's arm. "You totally deserve that, little brother."

They sat there together until Puck and Leah stumbled over, pushing the stroller bearing sleeping twins. "And number three," Leah said, reaching out to gather up Savannah's limp form. "Thanks for hanging out with her, Kurt."

"No problem. She's really sweet." He held Puck's gaze. "You have a lovely family, Noah."

"Way better than I deserve, man." Puck gave the stroller a little push toward the driveway. "I'll go get them in their car seats."

Finn watched him go. "More words than I heard from him all night."

"That's because you were  _avoiding_  each other all night," said Kurt.

Leah shrugged at Kurt. "You'd never know that they used to be best friends, would you?"

"Oh, no, it was the same way in high school. I think they barely made eye contact at Mr. Schue's not-wedding."

She hitched Savannah higher up on her shoulder. "I could arrange for him not to be busy tomorrow if you want to come get him for a couple hours. God knows he could use a little time away from his family."

Finn stammered in surprise. "Uh. Yeah. Sure. That would be great."

Leah smiled at both of them. "Perfect. It's still all-you-can-eat waffles at Fat Jack's on Sundays, and we haven't been since I went on bed rest before the twins were born. He'd love that."

"Cool. It's a . . ." Finn swallowed visibly before continuing. "It's a date."

* * *

"It was so great to see everybody again," Blaine said, carefully hanging his sport jacket back on its hanger. "Didn't Sam look good?"

"Tina said he's been running again." Kurt could still smell the scent of Savannah on his hands. He wondered if it was creepy that he didn't want to wash them, just to keep the memory of her close.

"I wish we could come back to visit more often," Blaine went on, calling into the bathroom from the bedroom.

"Me, too. I never thought it would be possible, but the longer I'm away the more I miss it."

"We could always have folks come visit us, too, you know. People say Paris is a destination."

 _But it's not the same_ , Kurt wanted to say.  _Paris isn't home_. The realization stopped him dead, toothbrush halfway to his mouth.  _Shit. Say something, say something_  he urged his brain. "It is that," he finally managed. "And we might want people to come and visit before we leave, right?"

There was a pause. "Well, sure. It's not like we're leaving right away. I mean, you like it there, right?"

"I do, but you came there because of me and now you're done with school, so we'll need to go wherever you find a job. I can work remotely from anywhere, really."

Blaine appeared in the doorway, his tie loose around his neck and his shirt half-unbuttoned. "Yeah? That's what I was thinking, but... I didn't want to assume anything."

"I know how academics works. We'll go where you can find a job." Even as he said the words, he could feel the resentment that followed them. It was fair. Blaine had come to Paris with him, and now he would go wherever Blaine needed him. It didn't matter that he'd  _still_ be the one making the money, while Blaine would be doing what he loved.

"And what if I told you that I found a job in Paris?"

Kurt turned to look at him, but Blaine didn't appear to be joking. He was watching Kurt, hope evident on his face. Kurt set the toothbrush down on the counter.

"You took a job without talking to me first?"

Blaine's smile faded into something uncertain and vaguely wounded. "I thought you would be happy about it. Or at least happy for  _me._ "

"Of course I am."

"Because you know I'm doing this for us, Kurt," he insisted. You've been supporting me all this time while I'm in school. Now I want to pull my weight. I want to do something that  _matters._  For us. So I asked Stephen to make some calls, and..." He trailed off, looking at Kurt. "But you're  _not_ happy about it."

"I'm surprised." Kurt took a deep breath, mostly to give himself time to force his jumbled thoughts into something more linear. "I guess I just thought you'd want to come back to the States."

"You love Paris."

"I do, but it's not home."  _I don't know where home is, though, so don't ask._

Blaine stood before him, too far away to reach out and take his hands. "Don't tell me you want to come back to  _Lima."_

"Not Lima, necessarily. Just, someplace closer. Seeing Puck with his family, spending time with Finn, I miss that." Kurt chose his next words carefully. "I know things are still strained with your parents; even after all these years, I see what their phone calls and emails do to you. But I miss my family."

"So much for  _wherever I find a job."_  Blaine had given up on getting undressed and was just staring accusingly at Kurt. "It doesn't matter where we go. It's never going to be good enough for you."

"It's not a matter of good enough or not. It's that just once in my life I'd like to feel like I really belong somewhere."

"Kurt, that's not something you can find. That's something you have to  _make_  happen. You and me, we were going to be a team." He looked so hurt, but Kurt wasn't in any position to stop and comfort him. "Why do I feel like you've been working against me this whole time?"

"You can't blame me for not working with you. I've been completely supportive of you. Your degree, everything you wanted - god, Blaine!" He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Are you even  _listening_  to me? The nightlife, the clubs, all your friends in Paris - it's not any different from what we were doing in New York. I feel totally isolated there. What kind of a place would that be to raise a family, to have kids?"

"I don't  _want_  to have kids!" Blaine burst out. "Jesus, Kurt! I spend all my time writing, teaching, working my ass off at the university. I don't want to have to be tied down taking care of somebody else. What's wrong with wanting to relax when I come home? I want to be with  _you._ "

"You want to be with the real me, or the me you've idealized in your head?"

Blaine tilted his head and stared at Kurt, something cold and distant in his eyes. "Like how you've idealized me?"

"I don't-"

"Oh, don't even, Kurt. Please. We owe each other that much, at least. You've always held me up as some kind of perfect boyfriend, which is pretty rich considering that we  _both_  know I'm not who you really want."

Kurt flinched at the pain in Blaine's voice. "You always told me - you said you wouldn't make me choose between the two of you."

"I thought you  _had_  chosen. I thought you wanted a life with me. You know I never would have minded you having him, too. But I see it, the way you can't help comparing us." He made a vague gesture at the world outside, everything that wasn't Blaine-and-Kurt. "Our real relationship is never going to live up to the possibility of a relationship with Dave Karofsky."

He felt his anger flare up. "It's not  _about_  Dave, Blaine. It's about us, and the fact that you say you want a home with me, but if you really meant that you wouldn't go to the clubs and go home with boys who expect nothing but a fuck-and-run. You say you're not enough for me, but clearly I'm not enough for you, either."

"No, Kurt, the difference here is I never tried to pretend I was anything other than who I am. I'm  _happy_  with you. You give me exactly what I need. That's obviously not how you feel about me. I'm not your home." Blaine shook his head, looking suddenly defeated. "I don't know if I can deal with that anymore."

"Are you breaking up with me?" Kurt thought he should feel panicked or scared, but in that moment, all he felt was exhausted. "In my  _dad's house?"_

Blaine rolled his eyes. "You don't have to be so dramatic about it. I'll go sleep on the couch. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Kurt couldn't get settled in his room after Blaine had taken a pillow and dragged the comforter down the stairs behind him. He hovered in the hallway, staring helplessly at the photos on the wall, until Finn's door opened and he poked his head out.

"I heard the yelling," Finn said. "Did he take off?"

"He's downstairs."

Finn nodded. "You wanna come in?"

The sewing room had a tiny bed in the corner, one that was far too small for Finn. Kurt sat on it, feeling lost, while Finn waited by the door.

"Do you want to call Dave? I can - leave you alone, if you want."

"No." Kurt shook his head. "I don't think I can talk to him right now. I  _should_  be downstairs, convincing Blaine that we're going to be okay, but I don't know how to do that when I don't believe it's true."

"I'm really sorry, man," Finn said softly.

Kurt shrugged. "Thanks, I guess. I think- I think this has been coming for a long time, really."

"Yeah, I remember how that felt. Doesn't make it any easier." He sat down next to him on the bed, yawning. "I doubt we can both fit on that mattress, but I bet Mom still has a sleeping bag in the hall closet. If you want me to stay."

"It's stupid." Kurt stared at his knees and laughed bitterly. "I don't know how to sleep alone anymore. Even when Blaine would - with other guys, I'd mostly stay up on the couch, watching old movies."

"It's not stupid. And it's okay, little brother. You don't have to sleep alone tonight."

Finn ended up squashed up against the wall, being an awkward big spoon, while Kurt made himself as small as he could in his arms. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but Kurt wasn't going to complain.

"Blaine really goes to the club and picks up guys?" Finn asked.

"Still does. Not all that often. It's not so bad, I guess. I mean, he doesn't object when I see Dave. It felt only fair to let him do what he wanted to do."

"Yeah, I felt kind of the same way when Puck and I were together. It was what I could get. Maybe not good enough, but... something, anyway." He sighed. "Now, watching him with Leah... he seems happy enough. I don't really want to mess with that."

"You mean by telling him how you feel?"

"He knows how I feel."

Kurt turned his head to look at Finn's pensive face in the dark. "You really think he does?"

"He wouldn't be with Leah if he didn't want to be. Puck does what he wants."

Finn sounded so resigned that Kurt had to hug him, a little half-arm pat on the back. "I'm sorry. You deserve to be happy."

"As much as anybody does, I guess. I'll figure it out. And you will, too, little brother."

* * *

The bed was neatly made and Blaine was already dressed when Kurt stumbled, bleary-eyed and stiff, back across the hall the next morning. Blaine's suitcase was open at the foot of the bed, almost completely packed.

"I thought we were going to talk this morning," Kurt said.

Blaine kept his back to Kurt. "I changed my ticket to go back today. You should stay for the week, like we planned. We need space, Kurt. We both need to decide what we want and how best to have it. Neither of us deserves to be someone else's compromise. We've loved too long and too hard for that."

"You're not leaving me, though."

Blaine shook his head. "No. Not until we have a real chance to talk, without anger. But I think this'll be good for us."

Kurt's words formed a lump in his throat, and he had to work to force them out. "You're probably right."

Blaine zipped his suitcase, set it on the floor, and shouldered his laptop bag. He crossed the room and stopped in front of Kurt, pulled him into a hug that Kurt expected to feel awkward, but wasn't. "I love you, and I just want us both to be happy."

"I love you, too," Kurt whispered. "I'll see you next week. Travel safe."

"I will."

Kurt watched from the window until Blaine had loaded his luggage and himself into the back of a taxi. Only after the cab was gone and the street was empty and quiet again did Kurt realize that neither of them had talked about Paris as home.


End file.
